


Empire State of Mind

by TeamRedhead



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Disorder, Bipolar Disorder, Bottom Ben Solo, Coworkers to lovers, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Food Issues, Healthy Relationships, Homophobia, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Love at First Sight, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pet Names, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Hux, Romance, Slow Burn, Top Hux, corporate setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-08-22 07:04:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 232,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8277025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamRedhead/pseuds/TeamRedhead
Summary: At 33, Ethan Hux is the CEO of one of the most successful marketing firms in New York.  He's spent decades establishing himself as the city's youngest self-made billionaire, who owes nothing to his family name, and it's paid off.  Hux has an empty penthouse, an addiction to caramel macciatos he's not willing to talk about, and the world at this fingertips.  There's nothing he couldn't have, if he wanted it - except, it appears, for the one thing he really needs.Ben is a failure. He knows this. At 25 he’s a college drop-out, with a list of mental health issues a mile long, two toxic and blatantly homophobic parents, and no friends. Stuck working a job for which he is decidedly unsuited, stuck in that home that isn’t a home, stuck pretending he’s not breaking to pieces, stuck… Just plain and simply stuck. With hope of a brighter future diminishing every day, Ben feels trapped. It’s only a matter of time before he breaks, and when he does, he knows he will never be able to recover on his own. But who in their right mind could ever love something as broken and ugly as Ben Solo?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Team Redhead is a collaboration between ficlet-machine and thegoodlannister. You may have noticed our Hux is not named Armitage; in this fic, he will be named Ethan. For reasons.

_Bzzz._ Hux hurried across the street to the sound of horns blaring, stepping out in front of traffic without waiting for the signal.  His phone was vibrating in his hand, and he narrowly avoided sending it crashing to the pavement when he flipped it over to read the incoming message, refusing to acknowledge a particularly loud honk from a man driving a beat-up taxi.  This was New York - everyone walked when the signal told them not to. Those who weren’t used to it had better become well-acquainted with their brakes, and quickly, because god help the person whose poor driving caused him to scuff his freshly polished Ferragamo wing-tips.  Hux had places to be and no energy to spare on disgruntled drivers who should have better budgeted their time if they were going to be made late by the few seconds it took for him to weave in and out from between their cars.  

**Push our lunch meeting back by 15?** _Phasma, of course_.  

Speaking of those who needed to better budget their time.  Hux spared a glance at his watch and ran a hand over his face.  His Chief Operating Officer was invaluable to the company, his right hand man - or woman, as it were - but she had a knack for getting hung up in meetings that pushed her schedule behind.  And if Phasma’s schedule was behind, it wasn’t long until Hux’ went with it.

He sighed as he typed his reply, his foot finding the step up to the curb from memory - he’d walked this street so many times, he could do do it blindfolded.   **I suppose I don’t have much of a choice, do I?  You’re still with finance, aren’t you?**

The reply sounded snappish, and he realized it, but he couldn’t help himself.  The alarm on his phone had gone off at 5:45 am, waking him up from a dead sleep with such a start that he’d knocked it from his dresser and onto the floor, giving himself a minor heart attack.  He’d finally fallen into bed just shy of two o’clock that morning, socks still on his feet and tie barely loosened, too tired to even pull the sheet up over him - which meant he was currently running on four hours and some odd minutes of sleep, with a crick in his neck from the way his pillow had bunched while he’d slept.

He shook his head back and forth, wincing at the tightness that refused to budge, even after a handful of Advil.  The only thing that was going to make him feel better was a two hour nap on his office sofa, but that wasn’t likely to happen today.  He hadn’t built one of the most successful marketing firms in the city by taking afternoon naps, as tempting as that sounded.  Using his knee to jostle his briefcase when it threatened to slip from his grip, he flipped his phone over again.   **Oh, grumpy today.  We both know you always feel better after one of our lunch dates.  My treat for the inconvenience today.  That acceptable, oh fearless leader?**

Hux rolled his eyes.  If Phasma had time to send texts like that, she’d probably already made up her mind about how to sidestep whatever finance was proposing and was just waiting for the schmoozing to end so she could spill the details to Hux.   **You bet I’m fearless, or I’d never have hired you.** He debated including an emoji - the little winky one, or maybe the one with its tongue sticking out - but decided that would be giving entirely too much validation to Phasma’s teasing, and hit send without it.  

Hardly a moment had passed before he added: **Who the hell else around here is worth going to lunch with?  It’s either you or Mitaka, and he’s like to piss on the floor any time I look at him.**

Speak of the devil.  As soon Hux nudged his shoulder into the rotating glass doors of Imperial Marketing’s highrise, his assistant was on his heels, clipboard in hand, looking like he either had something very important to say or was going to vomit on his last-season loafers, whichever came first.  Hux mentally counted to ten and prepared for the onslaught of Mitaka’s rundown of his day.  While he was a more than capable assistant - tirelessly dutiful, punctual to a fault, and so organized it managed to boggle even _Hux’_ mind - he operated somewhere on the level between an especially yappy chihuahua and a cat who was constantly afraid it was going to be sprayed with water.  (Phasma had suggested that he try it once, just for fun, but Hux hadn’t been sure the shock wouldn’t actually stop the man’s heart, and he had no desire to train a new assistant from scratch.)

“Mitaka,” he said, before the other man could launch into whatever he was about to say, thrusting his briefcase into the hand that wasn’t occupied with clutching a clipboard for dear life.  “I know you’ve got an endless list of items that demand attention, but first, for the love of god, _please_ tell me my Starbucks order is on my desk and that it’s right this time.”  

When the expression on Mitaka’s face transformed into one that made it look like he was about to cry, Hux took pity on him.  “Don’t look so heartbroken.  It’s not your fault the baristas in the lobby are imbeciles; I don’t expect you to actually taste my coffee for me,” he amended, patting the man on the shoulder with his now-free hand.  “I am just _gravely_ in need of a macchiato that actually tastes of espresso this morning.  I swear, if I have to live with the hot milk I received yesterday, I can’t be held responsible for my actions.”

Hux had met with six graphic artists that morning alone before ever making it into the office, and he’d yet to find even one whose portfolio was anything more than uninspiring.  Phasma had lectured him endlessly about delegating - he had an entire human resources department devoted to procuring talent for him, after all - but when it came to the creative aspects of the company, Hux had a hard time letting go.  While he had never been much of an artist himself, he had an eye for it, he thought, and image was the entire basis of Imperial Marketing.  If they couldn’t offer their client something visually stunning, what hope could they have of convincing anyone that they were essential in the creation of the rest of their image?

Mitaka visibly gulped and wedged his clipboard under his arm after upcapping a pen with his teeth (which Hux found so disgusting he could scream, swallowing down a lecture about the colonies of germs that lived on writing implements).  “Phasma’s asked to move your lunch meeting down by 15 minutes,” he began, unhelpfully, and Hux took a deep breath in through his nose.  

_Patience._ Mitaka knew Phasma had his personal cell number and should have been able to deduce that she’d texted him the request first.  He was stalling, and poorly.

“Already handled,” he said, his tone dismissive.  “Consider it moved.  Push back the rest of my day to accommodate it.”  

When they reached the elevator, the attendant greeted him with a nod and pressed the button for his floor without Hux having to ask, and Hux thanked the heavens for small favors - like well-trained elevator attendants.  His shoulders were growing tighter by the moment, and he rolled first one, then the other, while Mitaka rattled off a list of trivial matters that he believed required Hux’ consideration but that Hux knew him capable of handling himself, if only his confidence level would allow it.

Two minutes in, Hux allowed his mind to wander.  Finance was going to want to meet with him, if Phasma didn’t give them the answer they wanted - and chances were she wasn’t going to, which was exactly the reason he’d hired her.  She was relentless once she’d made up her mind, and she wasn’t about to budge on the salary increase requests she’d made for their creative team.  If Hux didn’t already agree with her assessment, she’d have him convinced by the end of lunch today, he was sure of that.  Phasma always had her reasons, and Hux usually agreed with them, once she took the time to explain.

The decision had already been made; it was up to financing to find a way to make the increases _work._ They just didn’t know that yet.

Hux wasn’t without a keen business sense - he’d built this company from the ground up without a shred of help, and he knew what was best for it. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t still be in the game, after throwing his hat into the ring when he was as woefully under-qualified as he had been at 26. MBA fresh and crisp in his hand, the ink not yet dry, he hadn’t wasted a moment in getting himself out from under his father’s thumb - had gone from investor to investor, sometimes demanding, sometimes wheedling, and at the end, not above begging.  Had been turned down a hundred times if he’d been turned down ten before finally someone had been reckless enough to put their faith - and their money - on a recent graduate with no practical experience and a resume that could fit on one page.

“Mr. Hux.”  A man twenty years his senior - one of his vice presidents, Rogers, he thought - stepped aside to let him on the elevator first, and Hux gave him a tight smile.  If only his father could see him now, with a host of businessmen the man’s age working underneath him.  (But of course that would have required Hux seeing his father too, and no amount of satisfaction was worth that.)  

“And finally,” Mitaka was saying, voice tight, as if he was speaking through a straw, as the elevator doors closed behind them, “PR needs your attention before the end of the day.  The media is… uh… well, they’ve gotten wind of the charity gala you forgoed attending last week.  There’s word that _Forbes_ is considering running a piece on your lack of societal engagement.  We need to do damage control.”

And there it was - the reason for Mitaka’s stalling.  Hux’ thoughts came to a halt with a screech he could have sworn was audible.

_"Damage control?”_ The incredulous words were out of his mouth before he could remind himself that one of his vice presidents was standing only a few steps in front of him, boring a hole into the wall with his gaze as the elevator pinged at the fourteenth floor.  Hux lowered his voice to a hiss. “You’re telling me I have to apologize for choosing not to go to a damned _party?_ I wrote the man a check, for god’s sake!  I’m not heartless!”  

The gall of it all was astounding.  Truly, he hadn’t skipped the gala due to a lack of interest in the cause… whatever it had been.  Something to do with children, he thought - and while he wasn’t interested in children of his own, he liked them well enough.  In theory.  He’d simply been tired, hadn’t felt like spending the night pretending to enjoy poorly chosen wine in SoHo’s newest art gallery surrounded by the kind of men who wouldn’t know art if it bit them in the asses.  Of all the things in his career he thought might come back to haunt him, he would never have guessed it would be _this._

When his phone vibrated again, he didn’t need to look to know who it was.   **Mitaka break the news yet?  Word is you’re the most unfeeling man in New York, Hux.  Can’t believe I’m the last to know.**

Hux snarled wordlessly at his phone, and Mitaka shrank away from him, as far as the cramped space in the elevator would allow, looking as if he’d written the article for _Forbes_ himself.  His fingers tapped against the screen of his phone with such force that he half-expected the glass of his iPhone to crack.   **Fuck you.**

There, he thought, hitting send before jamming his phone into the pocket of his blazer, that felt better.

Hux took a steadying breath, remembering what he’d read earlier that week about the importance of mindful breathing in Ayruvedic medicine, and turned to Mitaka as the doors opened to his floor, the wide expanse of the city visible through the floor to ceiling windows that made up the walls of his office.  “We’ll handle it,” he said, with more confidence than he felt.  

Really, he told himself, this wasn’t more than a nuisance.  Let them think what they want - what the city, what the country, knew of Ethan Hux was half rumor and half fairy tale, and he liked it that way.  He could work this angle - the cold and heartless bastard millionaire who couldn’t spare an evening for the good of the children.  He hadn’t gotten into marketing for nothing, after all.  “Tell PR not to work themselves into a fit over it.  I’ll speak with them before the day is out.”

Ethan Hux.  Princeton graduate summa cum laude at the age of 21, holder of an MBA from the Harvard School of Business by 23.  Climbing his way up the corporate ladder at 26, CEO of his own marketing empire by his 30th birthday - which, coincidentally, was also the year he’d first been featured in the _Wall Street Journal._ There was no way he was going to escape the public eye with a resume like that, and if they wanted a reason to hate him… well, they’d find one.  Sometimes it was easier to give the public what they wanted than to rail against it.

He dismissed Mitaka with a wave of his hand as he sunk into the plush leather of his high-backed chair, turning to look out over the sea of highrises from his million-dollar view while his laptop came to life.  (And that wasn’t hyperbole - the price per square foot of office space in this neighborhood put the value of this floor alone well into the millions.)  The people below were tiny, so far removed that he could barely make out the cut of their clothing, the color of their hair.  A billion people with a billion stories, all coming and going, hurrying somewhere - to work, probably, maybe here, in this building.  Maybe home to their families or to share lunch with their lovers.  Living their lives lives, whatever they were - and Hux didn’t know a one of them.

It was a profoundly lonely feeling, one Hux didn’t want to dwell on, so he drank deeply from his macchiato as he scrolled through his emails.  The milk was soy and still hot enough to near scald the roof of his mouth, which meant Mitaka had read the barista the riot act for yesterday’s mishap, as well as remembered to order Hux’ extra shot of hazelnut, if the sweetness on his tongue had anything to say about it.  Hux gave the man a moment of silence thanks - because he was immediately greeted with three separate emails regarding what was now being referred to as “the scandal.”  The _scandal_ .  He snorted at the dramatics as he marked all three _read_ without opening a one of them, just the subject lines so exhausting that he was closing his laptop and tucking it back into his briefcase before he’d made it halfway through the messages.

He’d deal with the rest after his lunch with Phasma, he decided, because for all her cheek in the matter, she was right in that he always _did_ feel better after speaking with her.  Something about her matter-of-fact way of handling things put Hux at ease, and he was already feeling slightly less like ripping his hair out by the time he sat down at the table Phasma had reserved, twenty minutes before she had said she would arrive.  She’d chosen one of his favorite spots - intimate enough that if he was recognized, the other patrons would know to keep to themselves, and well-appointed, with crisp, white tablecloths and lighting that was warm and soft.  

He sipped on a glass of red wine as he waited on Phasma’s arrival, checking his phone, but she hadn’t responded to his last - rather crass - text.  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he began typing **It’s bad form to keep the most unfeeling man in New York waiting** , but Phasma chose the exact moment he sent the text to round the corner to his table.

Phasma was the kind of woman who always made an impression, whether she wanted to or not.  (And it was to her credit that she always wanted to.)  Hux wasn’t sure how old she was - she had once said she’d rather kill than tell, and Hux didn’t want to test the seriousness of that statement - but he’d wager a guess she was a little younger than he was.  Standing at six feet and then some, she was close enough to Hux' height that their cheeks brushed when he stood to embrace her, and Hux let his hands linger on her shoulders, savoring the contact.  For as much as she was his partner in business, she was also his friend - and a damned good one at that.  There was no one he trusted half so much, even as she leaned in to whisper in his ear “Isn’t it worse form to _be_ the most unfeeling man in New York?”

Her lips brushed his ear as she said it, and Hux burst out laughing before shoving her away.  “You’re an ass, you know that?” he said, affection behind the words, as took her by the fingers and turned her to admire her ensemble.

Phasma - not her real name, he was certain, but the alias she’d been using in business since the day they’d met - was wearing a knee-length navy dress that hugged her hips and a chunky gold statement piece of a necklace that called attention to the piercing blue of her eyes.  Her short-cropped blonde hair was styled simply, and her lips were painted bright red as they pulled up into a wide smile.  

“You say that like you deserve anything better,” she teased, while Hux pulled a chair out for her.  

Before Phasma had fully crossed her legs, she was motioning for the waiter.  “A martini,” she said, as soon as the man approached their table. “Dirty.  Two olives.  And don’t even think about using the cheap vodka.  I’ll know.”  

It was her usual order, but that didn’t stop Hux from raising an eyebrow at her.  “Oh, don’t give me that look,” she said, rolling her eyes.  “We’re well into the afternoon, and you’re not allowed to judge me when I can see the wine your glass.  A good vintage, I hope.”  

As if he’d ever order something that wasn’t.  Hux resisted the urge to tell her wine was different than a martini, and swished some of the libation in question over his tongue.  It was only the house merlot, but he didn’t have any complaints; Hux knew the restaurant's sommelier personally and could always trust the man’s palate.  

“Don’t tell me the news of my scandal has driven you to day-drinking,” he admonished, as if Phasma couldn’t be found enjoying a martini on any given Thursday at 1:30 in the afternoon.  “That’s what they’re calling it, you know: a _scandal._ Can you believe it?”  He put his phone face down on the table and drew a finger around the rim of his wine glass, as he waited for Phasma’s reaction.  

At that, she laughed heartily, smile still as wide as ever and genuine mirth in her eyes.  “ _Finance_ drove me to day-drinking,” she corrected. “They’re hell-bent on talking me out of increasing our creative division’s salaries, won’t listen to a word I have to say.  It’s all _oh you know that’s not in the budget_ this and _we’ve had an abysmal first quarter_ that.”  

When the waiter reappeared with her martini, Phasma waved him off and took an appreciative sip, humming in the back her throat, before plucking an olive off the stirrer and popping it into her mouth.  “I told them that’s bollocks,” she said around a mouthful of olive.  She had a way of doing that that somehow made the habit of talking with your mouth full less disgusting than it really was.

“I know the first quarter figures better than they do.  We’re up - if not as much as we first projected - and the only way we’re going to continue that trend is if we have a skilled creative team backing us.  As it is, we’re behind other firms in the city in what we’re offering; our insurance package is less comprehensive, and they’re starting out with only a week’s paid vacation.  We’ve got to give them _something,_ or they’re going to start walking - and we both know where that will leave us.”

And he did - Phasma didn’t have to spell that out for him.  He hadn’t spent the better part of the morning meeting with prospective graphic artists because he didn’t value their design team.  “I’ll tell financing to figure it out,” Hux said, and then stopped to order a grilled tempeh salad.  

It wasn’t really what he wanted - there was a phenomenal cheese plate on the menu here, with a soft brie that was to die for, and even the thought of the steak Phasma was ordering set his mouth to watering - but he’d recently taken a renewed interest in his health after hearing through the grapevine that his father had suffered a heart attack scare a couple of months before.  Hux was young yet, but it was never too early to start worrying about such things.

“They can make cuts in other areas, if they need to,” he continued, as he spread the cloth napkin across his lap, noting with appreciation that the waiter had taken into consideration the color of his suit and replaced his black napkin with a cream-colored one.  Touches like that one were what kept him coming back to this restaurant.  “Let them figure out which - that’s their job.  You’re the one always telling me to delegate, after all.  This is me delegating.  Financing can get their collective heads out of their asses and use the time they save not hounding you to find places we can tighten the budget.”

Phasma chortled disbelievingly.  “I hope you’re going to be the one telling them that, because I don’t want to hear the whining that’s going to result from that decision.”  

She followed Hux’ lead and placed her own black napkin over her dress, before swallowing the second olive.  As she was chewing, Hux' phone vibrated on the table, drawing her attention, and she clasped her hands over her mouth, letting out a high-pitched squeak of amusement.   It was a sound Hux had heard hundreds of times, but one that never failed to sound out of place coming from her.  

“Oh, Hux.   _Hux._ You’ve got to be kidding me,” she exclaimed, reaching out to run a carefully manicured finger along the edge of the glass casing.  “Rose gold?  Really?  Isn’t that a little much, even for you?”

“ _What?_  What’s the matter with it?” Hux said defensively, snatching the phone out of her reach and placing it safely next to his wine glass.  “It was time for an upgrade, and you know I’ve always liked rose gold.  I think it looks sophisticated.”

He sniffed lightly and took a sip of his merlot, daring Phasma to say different.  He certainly wasn’t going to defend his choice in iPhone to his COO.

Phasma snorted and stood up to pluck the phone from the table.  “I think it looks girly,” she said, making a show of inspecting it, turning it this way and that as she settled back into her chair, and Hux felt his cheeks go red, the heat of embarrassment burning all the way up to his ears, even as he tried in vain to squash it down.  

This was ridiculous; it wasn’t as if he needed her approval in the color of his accessories (even if he _had_ texted her photos taken in dressing rooms so she could weigh in on his wardrobe choices in the past).  “Hardly the type of thing the most powerful man in New York should carry.”    

The words caught him so off-guard that Hux couldn’t contain his bark of laughter.  “I’m not the most powerful man in New York,” he corrected.  “I’m the most unfeeling.  There’s a difference.”

Phasma looked at him dubiously as their meals were delivered.  Hux’ tempeh salad looked uninspiring but appropriately healthy, arugula a bright green that suggested that it had been purchased at the farmer’s market not far from here earlier that morning, and he did his best to ignore the fact that Phasma’s steak appeared to be cooked just right, down to the little bit of blood that dribbled onto the plate as she cut into it.  

“So you’re telling me the most unfeeling man in New York carries a rose gold iPhone?  Oh, just wait until the papers get ahold of _this._ You’re going to have a second scandal on your hands, Hux,” she teased, once more around a mouthful of food.

With each word, the knot of anxiety in Hux’ chest was loosening, and for perhaps the first time that day, Hux found himself able to breathe without feeling like something was pressing on his chest.   _Thank the stars for Phasma._ He’d never tell her that - not with the way she was hell-bent on teasing him today - but she’d saved him from insanity at least a hundred times over by now.  Her company was welcome, and here in the comforting light of the restaurant, even his tempeh salad couldn’t inspire complaint.  

“I can see the headlines now,” he said, taking another sip of his wine and savoring it.  “ _Heartless bastard - literally,”_ and here he paused to smirk at his own pun, _“of Imperial Marketing caught snapchatting his nefarious schemes via his rose gold iPhone.  Are there no depths to which his firm won’t sink?”_

His words had the desired effect, and Phasma let out a guffaw of laughter.  “At least you know what you’re in for.”  

She took the napkin from her lap and dabbed delicately at the corners of her lips, careful not to smudge her trademark matte red lip color.  How she managed to keep the stuff in place throughout her meals was something Hux would never understand, especially with the way she ate.  

“Unfortunately,” she said, when she had finished, “you’re not actually heartless.  But only you and I know that of course.  I think it’s time you let somebody else in on the secret.”  

Her words were casual, her tone light, conversational - _too_ conversational - and Hux narrowed his eyes.  When she leaned across the table and into his personal space, Hux felt his heart drop into his shoes.  Suddenly, her need to see him for lunch today made sense.  It didn’t have anything to do with her problems with Finance - which she had already known he would solve - nor did it have to do with a desire to tease him about the _Forbes_ article.  In that moment, it all became painstakingly clear.  

“Oh no.  Oh no no no,” he protested, shaking his head and letting his fork clatter to the plate.  It couldn’t be true.  She _wouldn’t._ Hux could feel the eyes of the patrons at the next table over on him, but he was too horrified to care.  “ _No,_ Phasma.  I know what you’re thinking and I don’t want to hear a word of it.  We’ve been over this before.  It never works out well when you set me up with someone.  I’m not any _good_ at it.”

Phasma didn’t so much as react to his display, cutting off another bite of steak and gesturing with her fork.

“Oh, don’t be such a baby.  You don’t even know the man.  He might be your soulmate for all you know - or at least a damn good lay.  Either way, it’s more than you’re like to get if you spend the night sulking in your office.”  Hux made a noise of protest, and Phasma waved her hand dismissively.   “Don’t look at me like that - you know that’s what you were planning.”

Hux opened his mouth to argue, but shut it just as quickly.  There wasn’t much he could say to that.  While it was true that he hadn’t entered _sulking in my office_ into his schedule on his new iPhone (which _was_ sophisticated, thank you very much), that was how almost every night ended.  Alone in his high-backed chair, rumpled dress shirt unbuttoned at the neck and tie loosened, nursing a glass of Pinot Noir and looking over paperwork until his vision became so blurry that rubbing his eyes didn’t do anything to help.  Phasma had walked in on it more than once, and Hux knew he must have cut a pitiful figure.  

“So sometimes I work late,” he said, on the defensive now.  “I _am_ the CEO, you know?  Someone has to run this company while you’re off gallivanting with a different woman every night of the week.”  Hux winced and shifted uncomfortably in his chair; the comeback sounded weak, even to his own ears.

“I’ll have you know I’ve been seeing the same woman for two weeks now,” Phasma remarked.  “We’re seeing each other for the fourth time this weekend; I might even let her stay over.”  And this was news to Hux - both he and Phasma kept hard and fast rules about letting the people they were seeing into their homes - but she didn’t give him the chance to inquire further.  

“I can tell when you’re trying to change the subject, and it’s not going to work.  Listen, Richard is a nice guy - he’s in publishing, I believe, carries a little notebook around with him everywhere.  I met him at a poetry reading, and he really seems like your type.  Tall, witty, _really_ perfect hair. Probably kind of an ass, if you get to know him a little.  I wish you would give him a chance.”

Hux felt a little guilty at that, the bite of artichoke in his mouth transforming into something heavy and tasteless as he forced himself to swallow it down.

“Phasma,” he said, sputtering - and she was the only one in a long time to ever make him flounder for words like this.  “I know you’re just looking out for me, and I appreciate the gesture.  Truly I do.  But after the day I’ve had, I just don’t know… I’d have to dress up, or maybe down, depending on the venue.  Try to make myself seem vaguely approachable.  Find a gift that says _it’s so nice to meet you but I didn’t spend too long trying to pick this out because I know I’m in my mid-thirties, but I swear I’m not desperate._ Think of some conversational topic interesting enough to hold his interest for the majority of the evening while managing not to monopolize the conversation with talk of myself and my work.  Which is nearly all I have to talk about, if you haven’t noticed.”

When he had finished, Phasma was looking at him like he’d grown another head.  After a moment of silence in which she continued to regard him incredulously, her mouth dangling open a little, she said, “...it’s just a _date,_ Hux.”

“Ha!” Hux exclaimed, his voice taking on a pitch so shrill that he would never willingly admit he was capable of producing it.  “Just a date, she says.   _Just a date._ When you’re approaching 40 and everyone in the damn city knows you as the marketing tycoon who single-handedly reinvented the proverbial wheel, it’s never _just a date.”_ The tension that had dissipated in his shoulders was returning, and Hux focused on relaxing them, the beginning of a throb taking hold in his right temple.  

“You aren’t approaching 40,” Phasma argued, her logic infuriating because that wasn’t the _point,_ and Hux rested his forehead in his hand, rubbing at spot where his headache was growing.  

“You’re 33.  Stop deflecting.  Dammit, Hux - just go on the date!”  She set her martini glass down against the table with enough force that it rattled the silverware, the knot of discomfort so tight in his chest that the sound almost had Hux leaping from his chair.  “Have a few drinks, have a nice time - cop a feel, if you’re lucky.  And leave all your anxieties over it at the door, for the love of god.”  She pointed at Hux’ chest.  “There’s a person in there worth getting to know, and no one is ever going to get the chance if you keep shutting yourself away like a hermit.  People are going to start thinking you’re hiding something!”

Hux shrugged, doing the best he could to adopt a disaffected air of mystery - which was difficult when he’d nearly sent his chair toppling only a moment before.

“Maybe I have something to hide.”

“What?” Phasma said, with a tone of voice that so effectively implied _you’re full of shit_ that it wasn’t necessary for her to say it.  She leaned back to rest her feet on the rung of her chair, showing off gold pumps that matched her necklace perfectly _._  “That you’re an anxiety-ridden gay man so anal-retentive that you won’t let anyone into your house for fear they’ll put their dirty shoes on your sofa?  Sorry, Mr. Big Shot CEO, but your secret’s out.”

Hux was thankful he hadn’t chosen that moment to take a sip of his wine, because he didn’t relish the feeling of merlot rushing up his nose, and there was no stopping his snort of shocked laughter at her words.  Phasma was right - oh _god,_ was she right.  It was unfiltered and merciless, the kind of thing no one else would ever dare tell him, for fear they’d find themselves going door to door with a resume in hand the next morning, but that didn’t make it any less true.  

“And you’re telling me that’s what this _Richard_ is looking for in a man?” he chuckled.  “Because if that’s what you told him about me, I’d imagine my problem is already solved.  Chances are he’s already run for the hills.”

“No.”  Phasma stuck her tongue out him, acting more like a child than the person in whose hands he left all aspects of the firm he didn’t control directly.  “What I told him is that you’re wickedly funny.  Fiercely private.  Loyal to a fault.  Perfectly coiffed red hair.  A little bit anal, yes - but for some reason he seemed to like that.”  

She smiled wickedly, and Hux rolled his eyes at the pun.  He’d heard better from 12-year-olds.  

“But honestly,” she continued, dropping her voice to a conspiratory whisper and cupping her hand to the side of her mouth, “the part I told him about you being filthy rich probably would have been enough to keep anyone’s attention.”

“So you’ve already positioned me as a sugar daddy.   _Lovely._ ”  

Hux pushed the remains of his tempeh salad away from him, the topic of conversation having killed any desire to eat more, and Phasma reached across the table with her fork to dig in, helping herself to Hux' leftovers without asking, as she always did.  She had a self-satisfied look on her face - one that said, if Hux was entertaining the idea enough that he was even having this conversation, she’d already won.

“Hey, I was just doing the hard work for you,” she quipped, letting the sarcasm sit only long enough to make Hux feel truly stupid before sighing and looking at him seriously.  “His blazer might not have been Gucci, but he looked well-off enough, okay?  Publishing can be profitable.”

With that, she crunched down on a sliver of red pepper.  “Hey, this isn’t bad.  Fresh.”  Satisfied, she popped the rest into her mouth and chewed noisily.  “Anyway, he’s probably just glad _you’re_ not a gold digger.”

With an audible exhale, Hux drew his hands down his face.  When Phasma got an idea into her head, she was relentless, like a dog with a bone.  His salad was gone, a victim of Phasma’s appetite, his wine glass dry.  There came a time when any man, no matter how stalwart, had to admit defeat - and this, apparently, was his.  

“What time did you tell him I’d meet him?” he said into his hands, the resignation evident in his voice.

Phasma let out another little squeak, this time obviously pleased with herself, sliding him a slip of paper with a time and address written on it in her own script.  There was no question she’d had the thing at the ready, and Hux knew then that he’d never had any hope of escaping his fate, not from the start. Phasma had played him like a well-oiled violin.  

“8:30pm, and not a second later - so don’t go working late.  This patisserie just opened up on the West End,” she said, her excitement making her speak quickly, “and there’s a waiting list a mile long just to get through the door.  You wouldn’t believe how many strings I pulled to get you these reservations - ”

\---

At 8:45pm, Hux collapsed into the high-backed chair behind his desk, breathing deeply for the first time in hours.  The entire building was dark, quiet, save for the whirring of a vacuum cleaner as a janitor made his way past Hux' closed door - the two of them the last holdouts, everyone else at Imperial Marketing having made their way home at least thirty minutes before.  His face was bathed in the blue glow from his laptop, while a hundred stories below, the street came alive with people, loading themselves into taxis, streaming up from the subway tunnels to gather on corners, meeting for dinner or drinks or discussion.  

Across town, an unsuspecting couple was being admitted to a patisserie with a waiting list a mile long without a reservation - but up here, Hux may have very well been the only man alive in all of New York.

When the screen of his phone illuminated with Phasma’s name, he turned it over, reaching instead for the brandy in the cabinet beside his desk. He’d explain in the morning.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for: Non-consensual drug-use, non-graphic description of attempted sexual assault.  
> If you are sensitive to either of these, we advise you to proceed with caution or skip the last half of the chapter. We will happily provide you with a trigger-free summary of the important parts over on Tumblr.

Ben’s alarm clock rang at 6:00, as always, and he struggled to wake himself up enough to be able to reach out and turn it off. It was like trying to move through water; his movements were slow, his body heavy and uncooperative. His brain felt like some sort of mush, the thoughts came so slowly and took so much effort - he was exhausted before he’d even gotten himself upright. Nausea rolled through him in waves, making his gut feel heavy and tight, cold sweat covering his skin and making his pajamas stick to his body in awkward places. The possibility of being sick seemed ever bigger than it had the previous morning, and Ben wished he’d remembered to eat something with his evening meds - he’d been on Lithium for well over a year now, he should have learned. The brain mush from the sleep meds couldn’t be helped much, though - he knew that - but it didn’t really help matters right now. The journey from his bed to the bathroom seemed endless, and he wasn’t too sure he’d make it there without throwing up. Very carefully, he reached over to his nightstand and grabbed the bottle of water he always kept there, opening it and taking small sips for a while, until the disgusting surging feeling in his stomach had settled some.

By some lesser miracle he made it to the shower, turning the water on to the coldest setting he could manage - he had to, he’d fallen asleep in there more than once - and quickly washing the sweat off himself. Whatever little stubbles that had managed to grow since yesterday had to wait until he’d had some more water, some breakfast, and his morning meds. His hands were trembling like mad, and he had trouble enough trying to hold on to the shampoo bottle. Shaving? Yeah, that would end in tears. He really should have drunk more water yesterday.

It took frustratingly long to manage the buttons of the dark oxblood-red shirt he’d chosen for the day, and he almost fell over when trying to get his socks on, but eventually he declared himself as dressed and headed down to the kitchen. Leia was making coffee, and the frustrated noises coming from the small study down the hall told him that Han had lost his glasses again. As he shuffled over to the fridge to get one his trademark little portion sized yoghurt cups out, Leia threw him a glance from where she was just pouring the fresh coffee for them.

“You’re not wearing that shirt to work, I hope,” she said.

Ben looked down at himself. He’d liked the way it looked in the mirror, but maybe he’d been wrong. He knew he wasn’t very good with this stuff.

“I-is it too much?” he asked, curling a bit on himself. “I- I thought it looked okay, but....”

“Too much for work,” his mum said, handing him his coffee. “You stick to neutral colours, Ben. You work in an office, not a bar. Where’d you put that powder blue one I got you? Not the striped one, the other one.”

“I think it’s in my closet. I’ll go change. Sorry.”

“White t-shirt under it, Ben. Not a dark one!” 

He hurried back up to his room, getting out of his shirt as he went, and throwing it in a corner before changing into the shirt his mum had decided on. This time he didn’t even bother to check the mirror - Leia was much better at these things. If she said it worked, then he didn’t argue. He didn’t want to show up to work looking like a clown. It was bad enough that he stuck out like a sore thumb already, with his height and general awkwardness - he didn’t need additional reasons. When he came back down to the kitchen, he got an approving nod from Leia, followed by a:

“You need to get a haircut soon. Your hair is getting too long.”

Promising to make an appointment as soon as possible, Ben finally got started on his breakfast. He could feel the disapproval radiating from Han as he sat down as well - his father didn’t regard a cup of yoghurt as proper anything, much less proper breakfast food - but he didn’t say anything. There was no point, really. This was the most Ben could manage to ingest in the mornings now - if he tried anything heavier than that he’d either be really sick, or have the worst stomach ache for the rest of the day. But he still couldn’t take the Lithium without food in his belly, so here he was - slowly making his way through a meal designed for kids, trying to trick his body into accepting it. He’d drunk nearly the whole water bottle by the time he was finished, and most of the coffee still remained in the mug. He’d have to wait with that until he got to work.

“Oh, uhm, I’m not gonna be home for dinner tonight,” he said, heart beating hard and fast in his chest - preparing for the inevitable questioning. “There’s, uhm, a little after work thing planned. I said I’d go, so. Yeah. Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner - I kinda forgot.”

“You can’t honestly be planning to go out drinking on a weeknight!” Leia looked shocked and appalled. “And with your meds! Ben, you know you can’t have alcohol when you’re on Zopiclone!”

Ben shrank in his seat, avoiding her gaze as much as he could - Leia had a very powerful stare, and he could feel it burning against his downturned head.

“I’m not! I’m just going to hang out a bit with my co-workers. Y-you said I needed to try and make friends. I won’t drink anything, I promise.”

“How does going to some dive bar and getting drunk qualify as making friends?” Leia’s voice had that venomous note to it again. Ben felt stupid and small. “Really. I thought we raised you better than that. If your co-workers want to make fools of themselves, then fine. But I really expected better from you.”

It went right into his heart like a poisoned knife, it always did. Ben didn’t know how to stop it anymore. Everything just got to him - took root and festered until he broke down, locking himself in the bathroom, or the locker room, trying to fight the panic despite knowing it was futile. He hated himself for being so stupid and weak. No matter what he did, he’d always end up a disappointment, he knew that - it just sucked to be reminded.

“You had better not be spending the night with some guy,” Han said, joining in. “You know the rules around here. You want to go out with the team? Fine. I get that, and I can look past it this once. But if I hear one word about you and some guy, you’re out of this house. Understood?”

Ben nodded. He had really hoped Han wouldn’t bring that up, it just made everything harder. If no one mentioned it, then Ben could pretend it didn’t exist - but an explicit order not to hook up with anyone? That had the anxiety clawing at his insides. Because there was no ‘after work’ thing with his colleagues. Or, well, they might be going somewhere, but Ben wasn’t ever invited. They barely even spoke to him, and he could hardly blame them - after all, he barely spoke to them either. He just tried to keep his head down and get his job done with as few fuck-ups as possible. This was his last chance, he reminded himself. Still, some tiny little rebellious part of his mind - a part he’d tried his hardest to extinguish - longed for some modicum of freedom and adventure, and tonight he was going to try and find it. It wasn’t the first time, not at all. But it was still a rather rare occurrence for him to have the opportunity, so he had to take it. Consequences be damned, he had to… to feel like  _ whole person _ for a little. Even if it was just a few hours of dancing and some random, nameless, faceless groping and quick blowjob at the back of a club. He’d long since given up hope of anyone being willing to give him more than that. Again, he didn’t blame them. He knew what a walking disaster area he was, but hope… hope was a goddamned  _ bitch _ , and Ben really should know better.

It was raining when Han dropped him off - they wouldn’t let him drive because of his meds, and apparently public transport was for  _ other  _ people - but Ben liked the rain. It smelled fresh and clean, the chill of it was soothing against his face, and it also kept people from telling him to smile more. He never did understand why people equated sunny weather with the need to smile like idiots all day, but he did his best. Thing was, he didn’t really like his smile - it was too crooked, too full of wonky teeth, too goofy, too… wrong. He never really learned how to smile in a way that didn’t look and feel forced. Smiling was hard. It had been years since he’d last felt an actual urge to - nowadays it was as rehearsed as the polite phrases he spoke to customers; convincing, but fake. It never did pass a closer examination.

He hung his jacket on its designated little hook and grabbed a cup of the surprisingly high-quality coffee on his way to his desk. They’d stuck him in a corner, across the open-plan space from pretty much everything, next to one of those god-awful wannabe palm-tree plants, a water-cooler that would randomly start bubbling, and a vent that always blew cold air in his neck. The window was three desks over, and Ben had covered the screen separating his desk from the others on his row with pictures of skies and clouds, some cats, and photos he’d once taken of the Irish countryside while on a trip with Han and Leia.  _ Surround yourself with happy, positive things _ , his former therapist had said.  _ You’re only as depressed as you let yourself be. You can always choose to be happy _ . But that therapist had also been the one who insisted on him policing and schooling his emotions at all times, because  _ strong emotional events can cause a mania. Ben. You need to be mindful of this at all times _ . He’d stopped going. It was worth the verbal gauntlet from his parents to get away from that bit-,  _ woman _ . His current therapist was content to have him show up every other week to show her that he hadn’t tried to kill himself again since last time - which was as much therapy he felt he could handle nowadays. After ten plus years, there wasn’t much left to talk about, especially not when it was obvious that they didn’t listen anyway.

Ben was okay with his desk; he’d had worse workplaces than this, and he wasn’t about to go complaining when he knew even this job was probably too good for him - the unstable, awkward fuck-up of a college drop-out that he was. He mustn’t do anything to jeopardize it, because he was so quickly running out of options it made him want to scream. But it was hard. He was so constantly on edge, trying to function like a normal person while in reality he couldn’t remember a day when he didn’t feel like the tears were just one wrong word away, like that horrible, terrifying, destructive anger wasn’t constantly simmering just beneath the surface, just waiting for a trigger. It was the worst thing in the world never being able to trust himself, and he couldn’t help but feel so  _ tired _ .

He didn’t get much time to think about any of that, though, as every last minute between him signing in on his computer and him finally getting to go on lunch break was occupied by answering phones, filling out forms, running all over the building in all kinds of errands, and solving the ever present technological problems that by now had become as much routine as answering the phone. Everyone in his particular department were fairly convinced the printers were possessed, or at the very least haunted, by some entity with a passion for eating files, because every now and then things would simply not get printed, and no one could figure out why. Occasionally, things  _ would  _ get printed - but on the printers in the  _ sales  _ department, two floors up, at the other end of the building. The IT people had given up, saying that all they could do was to re-send and hope for the best. On days like this, that really didn’t fucking help.

Lunch was the same as it always was; Ben sat by himself, trying to finish up his food as quickly as he could so he could go out for a smoke and calm his permanently frazzled nerves a bit before the afternoon madness began. He should really cut down a bit on the smoking, but for now he couldn’t really bring himself to - these little smoke breaks were very often the only thing standing between him and a meltdown. And this afternoon he’d been roped in to take notes in a meeting with a high-end client - something which always made him extremely nervous. It wasn’t exactly a talent of his, and he could usually worm his way out of it, but today they were a few people short, and no one else had time to do it. The problem was that he worried so much about getting everything right and not misunderstanding something or forget to write something down - and unfortunately some clients thought he came across as intimidating and grouchy when in reality he was just focusing so hard he forgot to school his expression. He briefly considered taking an Atarax, but he didn’t have that many left, and he’d forgotten to get his prescription renewed, so he decided against it. He didn’t want to waste them in case he needed them later.

\---

The club,  _ Eden _ , was already filling up with people when Ben got there a little bit after seven in the evening. He’d taken the opportunity to catch up on some things he’d never gotten around to do the day before while he waited for the clock to reach a more acceptable time. Being that guy that hung around outside a club while waiting for it to open felt way too pathetic, even for him. Besides, if anyone saw him and told Han or Leia, Ben would up shit-creek for real. He knew they rarely made empty threats, and, if he was to be completely honest with himself, it was some sort of miracle that they hadn’t thrown him out yet. After all, his only real talent seemed to be fucking up in ever new and spectacular ways. Then again, they were fairly convinced he completely lacked any ability to take care of himself, after what had happened when he was in college. That was one mess he’d rather not think too much about. It was bad enough that he still had the scars.

As he sat down on one of the white leather barstools, he took the opportunity to look around to see who else was there tonight. There were some guys, Ben never really remembered their names, that were usually always game for a quick hook-up - but there were also the other guys, the ones Ben had learned to stay away from. Tonight, there seemed to be a fairly even mix of both those categories, but also a lot of new faces. He really needed to find a way to get out more often. How long ago was it now? Six months? Seven? It was probably useless trying to establish that since his perpetually foggy brain really struggled with the concept of time - something which Han always found endlessly frustrating.

The bartender, a cheerful man in his late forties, came over to where Ben was seated - polishing his glasses on the hem of his shirt.

“Well, hello there,” he smiled. “Haven’t seen you around in ages. What can I get you?”

“Just a Coke for now,” Ben said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It felt nice to be recognized. It made him feel a bit more like an actual person. “Regular, if that’s okay, and no ice, please.”

“Of course!” The bartender quickly poured him his glass, setting it down onto the counter and sitting down on a barstool. “Gotta sit down while I still can,” he grinned. “God knows I’m not twenty anymore. So what’s up with you? You’re looking a bit down, you know.”

Ben shrugged. He knew the man only asked because it was his job, and even if he’d actually given a damn it wasn’t really something Ben felt like burdening anyone with.

“Just… life in general, I guess,” he said, hoping the smile came out looking natural and not like he was planning to bite his head off. “Work’s been pretty hectic lately - you know how it is.”

“Do I ever!” The bartender gave a hearty laugh, patting him on the shoulder. Ben managed to keep himself from flinching - physical contact of this kind was something he struggled with. “But at least you’ve got a job to go to! That’s a fucking blessing in this day and age!”

Ben couldn’t help but agree with that - and as much as he sometimes hated his job, he was grateful for having one in the first place. Being unemployed did things to his head after a while, bad things. It was in a lot of ways easier to get by when he had too much to think about and do to really be able to pay any attention to what he was feeling. His therapist said it was unhealthy, and that he was teetering very close to the edge of burning himself out - but Ben elected to ignore her, because he knew that while she was right, he couldn’t really afford to think too far ahead. He could barely plan a full week without the aid of several different calendars, sticky notes, and notifications on his phone and computer - how the hell was he supposed to manage months or even years?

They chatted for a little while, until three rather large groups of people came in and demanded attention all at once. Ben didn’t mind - he was useless at small talk, and right now he just wanted to be left alone to scan the place for suitable guys to start talking to. If he was lucky, they’d come to him first, though, which would save him the horror of having to face rejection after he finally managed to pull himself together enough to actually initiate something.

After a few hours of idle chatting with various other people and doodling on the napkins, Ben had finally managed to relax a little. He still kept himself away from the alcohol, not wanting to risk anything - he still had to take his Zopiclone when he got home, after all. There would be hell to pay tomorrow if it went wrong, so even though he’d really like a beer or a cider, sticking with Coke felt like the best option. He’d noticed a guy sitting by a corner table and quite obviously enjoying the view of Ben at the bar. The guy wasn’t bad looking - a bit older than Ben, that was for sure, but with a nice face, some silver streaks in his hair, and very nice clothes. Deciding to be brave, Ben shot him a smile, raising his glass in a little toast. The guy grinned in response and wasted no time waving for him to come over to his table, and after a steadying breath and ordering another Coke, Ben did just that. Sinking down into the plush sofa next to the guy, he tried not blush under the intense gaze.

“Hey there, gorgeous,” the man said. “I’m Nick.”

“Ben,” Ben said, giving a small smile.

“Ben, huh? Short for Benjamin?”

Ben shook his head.

“Benedetto.”

“Benedetto?” Nick seemed to roll the name around in his mouth like a fine wine. Then he grinned again, something playful glinting in his eyes. “I like it. Well, Ben, tell me - how the hell is someone as cute as you not here with anyone?”

Ben shrugged. He hated these conversations, this talking around the subject forever - they both knew why they were here, so why couldn’t they just get on with it?

“I, uhm, I don’t really do relationships,” he said. “I prefer to have my freedom.” It was a blatant lie, but he’d stuck with it for years now - hoping that one day he’d say it and it wouldn’t burn like acid on his tongue.

They talked for a little, Nick constantly smiling at him, touching his hands, his thigh, caressing his cheeks and hair - he’d even managed to coax Ben into having a beer, saying “it’s just one beer, what harm can it do?”. Eventually Ben had to go to the bathroom, and by the time he came back he’d decided it wasn’t really worth it. Something felt a little off about that guy - there was something in his eyes that didn’t match up with the rest, and Ben preferred not to stick around to find out what that was. However, when he’d come back to the table, Nick pulled him into another conversation - completely ignoring Ben’s attempts to cut things off, and then after a while he started feeling a bit… odd. He felt woozy, the world seemed to blur at the edges, and his body felt heavy, uncoordinated. He couldn’t seem to make it move properly, couldn’t get to his feet and leave - it was as if his brain couldn’t connect to his limbs, or, for that matter, with itself. Everything was fuzzy, distorted - all the voices sounded like they came from somewhere far away, like he was hearing them through some metal can or something. A part of him, the part of his mind that still had some modicum of coherence left, realized just what the problem was. That rat bastard next to him had slipped something in that beer he got him, and now it was taking effect. Ben knew he had to get out of there, but it seemed nearly impossible to maneuver himself away from the sofa and out of the club.

He managed, finally, to get himself standing, but nearly fell face first to the floor - would have, if that kind, decent human that was the bartender hadn’t been walking by at that exact moment; on his way back from a smoke break from the looks of it. He caught Ben by the shoulder, pulling him into a close grip to keep him steady, and carefully looked him over.

“Hey, are you okay, kid?” he asked. Ben shook his head, trying to get the words out that no, he was most definitely not okay. “Don’t worry. Let me help you. Lean on me, that’s it.”

“He’s just had a bit too much to drink,” Nick said, getting on his feet as well. “Give him here, and I’ll get him home.”

“This kid doesn’t drink,” the bartender retorted. “He’s had five cokes tonight - and only one beer. That you got for him. So fuck off, you creep, before I call the police on your ass.”

“What did I do?”

“Honestly, dude, you don’t think I know when someone’s been roofied? I‘ve been working the bar for twenty damn years. I know what it looks like. Now get the fuck out of my bar, or you’re gonna be sorry!”

With that, he lead Ben very gently to the back room, talking soothingly to him the entire time as he helped him lie down on the couch in the small staff room before going to fetch him a glass of water and telling security to deal with the asshole who put him in this state. Ben accepted the glass gratefully, though he could barely hold it properly and had to let the bartender help him drink. It felt like he might start crying any moment - the helplessness and shame completely overwhelming - and all he wanted was to crawl under his covers and stay there for a year, or four.

“Hey, kid,” the bartender said, shaking him gently to keep him from passing out. “I’m gonna reach for your phone, okay? I’m gonna call someone to come pick you up. Okay? I’m not going to touch you in any way.”

Ben really did want to protest, because the only ones to call were Han and Leia, and if he did… Ben was in a load of trouble. And that was putting it mildly. But he couldn’t make himself speak. His tongue felt like a dead weight in his mouth, like it had suddenly doubled in size, and he just couldn’t get the words out as the older man reached into his pocket and got his phone out. It was becoming increasingly hard to stay awake, and he was only vaguely aware of the other man getting up and pacing the space as he waited for whichever parent he’d tried first to pick up.

It could have been five minutes or two hours, Ben really couldn’t tell, when he heard the tell tale heavy steps of Han approaching the room he was in. for some reason, the man walked as if he needed everyone to know he was there. The bartender was explaining something to him, something that sounded like assurances that Ben wasn’t drunk, that is wasn’t his fault. Bless the man’s heart, but Ben knew neither Han or Leia would give a shit. 

Together, Han and the bartender got Ben to his feet, and Han half carried, half dragged him out through the back exit and into the car. As he was placed in the back seat, unable to even make himself sit upright, Ben could make out little fragments of the conversation between the two older men - Han’s “people persona” in full gear, as he assured the bartender that it’d be alright and he was glad he’d called so they could come get Ben instead of him ending up in some gutter. Ben had always wished he’d be able to construct a persona like that, too. It would make everything so much easier if he could just act like he didn’t want to crawl out of his skin any time he was in public.

The car ride home was silent, Han’s eyes were fixed on the road, and Ben clung to what little consciousness he still had - enough, apparently to pick up on the tension in the air between them. He didn’t even have to look at Han to know the set of his jaw, the narrowed eyes or the way he gripped the steering wheel with more strength than what was frankly necessary - even in his dazed state Ben could feel the anger radiating off of him in waves.

As soon as they were inside, shit hit the fan. Han launched himself into what was probably the worst tirade on the topic of Ben’s shortcomings he’d heard since he was last hospitalized a year ago. The list seemed absolutely endless, and Han’s voice kept rising in volume, and then Leia - of course - joined in. She didn’t yell, however. No, Leia almost never raised her voice - she didn’t have to. She could coat her words with more venom than the Earth’s entire population of rattlesnakes could produce, and Ben couldn’t even try to defend himself. All he could do was let them lead him to his bedroom, get him out of his clothes and into bed - all of it with his mother’s passive aggressive monologue loud in his ears. The last thing he managed to register before finally losing consciousness, was Han informing him that they were done with him and his constant fuck-ups. They had had enough, and Ben left them no choice but to take drastic measures to ensure the message got across.

\---

The next morning - well after ten am - Ben finally managed to wake up again. He felt absolutely horrible, with a sharp headache pounding away at this temples, lead bars for limbs, and the usual nausea swirling around in the pit of his stomach. Logically, he shouldn’t feel this nauseous since he hadn’t taken his Lithium the night before, but for some reason he just couldn’t stop feeling like has going to be sick for real. And sure as hell, he was. He barely made it to the bathroom, throwing up everything in his stomach - mainly acid at this point - before staggering back to his bed, and as he sat down he noticed his large duffle bag leaning against the foot of his bed. It had been packed, Ben realized. So, it really was happening this time. They were actually throwing him out.

He’d been threatened with this so many times now that he’d almost started believing the day would never come. Almost. But he had to admit to himself that he had expected to be surprised, shocked even, possibly a little panicky - but all he could feel was a sort of empty resignation. There wasn’t anything he could do to change their mind, he knew that, so he wouldn’t even try. He’d been picturing every possible and impossible scenario for so many years now that he was fairly prepared, all things considered. He knew the addresses of a few shelters, he had a membership at the YMCA, and he had always been very careful with his money - so he should be alright, at least for a little while. The biggest issue was going to be his meds. With so much more money going to food and trying to get around, there would be a lot less money for his long-ass list of prescriptions. He sighed. One problem at a time. He should have enough of at least the Lithium to last him another week or so. But when they were out, they were out - because no way in hell was he going to be able to afford seeing his psychiatrist.

With a heavy heart, he got to his feet and got dressed in the things he’d worn the day before - it was the only set of clothes not packed, and at least someone had aired them out so they didn’t smell of alcohol and smoke from the bar. The house was very quiet, not in the ‘empty house’ way, but in the ‘someone is waiting for me downstairs’ type of way, and Ben knew he might as well get it over with. The longer he waited, the worse it would inevitably get - especially if it was Leia waiting for him. First, though, he had to rush back to the bathroom and throw up again. The acid burned his mouth, and once his stomach had ceased its dry heaving, he pulled himself back onto his feet and rinsed his mouth thoroughly with water and some of Han’s super strong tooth paste - his own wasn’t there, so he figured they’d really made sure to pack everything to really drive home the point that he was no longer a part of this household. Funny really, how little things like that could speak so loudly. He felt about as strong as a newly hatched chicken, but none the less he grabbed his bag and carried it with him downstairs - all of his worldly possessions fitting into a single worn old duffle bag, and if that wasn’t absolutely pitiful he didn’t know what was. He none the less set down it by the door before entering the kitchen - and sure enough, Leia was sitting by the table, eyes cold, mouth curled in contempt.

“I want you to give me your keys,” she said. “Your father and I have had enough of you and your ungratefulness. We’ve cleaned up your messes for so many years now, it’s enough. I am so incredibly disappointed in you, Ben. We’ve given you a thousand chances; private school when your first one didn’t work, good college - everything. And what do you do? Huh? You drop out of college, you can’t keep a job, and you can’t even abide by the rules of this house - where you didn’t even have to pay rent, mind you - and frankly, I struggle to understand how something like you came out of me. Your father is right, you really are too much like your grandfather - and look where he ended up, Ben! On the street, just like you now. All because he couldn’t get a grip on himself and behave like a normal person. Artist!” Leia snorted. “Lazy, selfish, and immature, is more like it. And here we are now, and you couldn’t be more alike, you and him. The same weak mind, the same selfishness, the same lack of drive. Well, not under my roof. Not anymore. Your keys. Then you can leave. Your life is now your own mess to handle. I’m done.”

Ben, who knew better than to interrupt Leia when she went on a rant, simply let her carry on until she was out of steam. Swallowing back the tears that threatened to break out, and curling on himself, Ben waited for her to finish. Then he silently unhooked the house keys from his little chain and put them on the table. Suddenly there was no air in there, he had to get out of this house - _ right now _ . He had to leave before he broke down, couldn’t afford to give her that victory. If there was one thing he’d learned during his twenty-five years of life it was that Leia was like a dog with a bone - once she’d gotten a grip, she would keep chewing until there was nothing left. The more Ben struggled the worse it got - but nothing was worse than when he broke down, when she had evidence right there in front of her that she’d won, that she was right, that Ben couldn’t even handle “a little criticism”. Any time he did, she told him he was so much like that sorry excuse she’d had for a father, so much like that man who couldn’t even take care of himself after he came home from the war, and eventually ended up on the street - wheelchair and all - and they hadn’t seen him again until his funeral. Any time Ben reacted too strongly in her opinion, she pulled the ‘grandfather’ card, and the game was over. Being like his grandfather was the worst crime Ben could possibly commit, and the problem was that he didn’t know to prevent it! The criteria seemed to change with every situation, until the only thing Ben could be certain of was that he could never do right - because how can you play by the rules when your mere existence seems to go against them?

Still silent, he turned around, got back out into the hallway and put his shoes and jacket on. He didn’t even bother to take one last look around before hoisting his duffle bag over his shoulder and stepping out the front door. The click as it closed behind him, followed embarrassingly soon by the sound of the lock turning, all sounded very final. Ben made it all the way to his old hideout in the alleyway behind the nearby convenience store before his legs gave out and he sank down on some empty wooden crates and cried.

This was it.

Ben’s life was now officially falling apart.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Important Notice: Ben's mental illness are based to a large extent on Loke's own, therefore they may not ring true for every reader. Also, yes Han and Leia are being psychologically and emotionally abusive to Ben, which may not be apparent to everyone - that is the point. This type of abuse is often difficult to see for people who have not themselves experienced it. Once again, come poke either of us on tumblr (ficlet-machine or thegoodlannister) if you want to hear more.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: blood. (This one's pretty safe, guys.)

It had taken PR two weeks to secure the interview with _Esquire -_ which wasn’t long at all, Hux supposed, given the status of the publication.  He may not have been used to waiting for things anymore, but he’d had his share of practice.  Hux had spent all the years of his adolescence counting the days until he could be out of his father’s house and on his own, had then spent all the years of his education imagining that illustrious future where he wouldn’t have to accept a dime of the man’s money, could live life on his own terms, without the constant spectre of judgement that would always always _always_ find him wanting hanging over his shoulder.  So while PR had fretted that Hux was being too complacent, had hounded him to take more immediate action if he cared for his reputation at all, Hux was content to let things settle.  Business at Imperial Marketing would be conducted as usual, until such time when Hux decided otherwise; there was work for him to do here that had nothing to do with the kind of ass-kissing PR should have known better than to expect of him.

Hux hadn’t been above begging when he’d been new to the business world - pride was the downfall of fools, he knew, had witnessed firsthand how pride had blinded his father to his own shortcomings - but he’d be damned if he’d prostrate himself in front of hypocrites who thought they had any right to judge him.  Especially when there had been publications clamoring for his story since Imperial Marketing had first burst onto the scene.  

He’d written the initial email to _Esquire_ himself because he couldn’t trust PR not to make the whole thing look like a favor to him.  Really, he’d explained, it was he who was extending an opportunity to _them;_ because recent developments being what they were, he was ready to finally make public the details of his life, his relationship with his father, his apparent lack of philanthropy, _everything._ While _Esquire_ had never approached him for an interview, many other publications had - any number of which he could contact right now to make good on their offer.  But he wanted to offer this once-in-a-lifetime chance to a publication in good standing, and for that, he had chosen _Esquire,_ because of their prestigious reputation, of course.

(A nagging voice in the back of his head had reminded him that he had better hope _Esquire_ didn’t employ anyone in publishing who enjoyed poetry and went by the name of Richard, but he chose to studiously ignore that.)

In reality, Hux had never read a word contained in _Esquire_ ’s pages; even the cover of the magazine, with its highly glossed photos that spoke of cheap pretension, turned his stomach a little.  A list of emails to other publications sat in wait in his contacts, in the event that _Esquire_ ’s publisher made the mistake of denying him - something PR had urged him to act on after the first week of silence.

But in the end, _Esquire_ had taken the bait, and according to the alert on his phone, the journalist they’d chosen to send to him had checked in at the desk in the lobby just a few moments ago. Hux stood up from his desk and strode to the full-length mirror that hung on the back of his office door, inspecting himself critically.  He’d chosen a charcoal grey suit, well-suited to the long line of his legs.  His tie was a pale pink - a bold choice, but one that his friends at his favorite menswear shop had wholeheartedly approved of.  

Freesman Sporting Club was, in Hux’s opinion, the finest place to buy a suit in the whole damn city.  He’d discovered it years ago, when he’d had to pinch every penny for months in order to afford even a pair of their cufflinks - but the manager there, Thannison, had taken a liking to him from the moment he stepped through the doors that first day, twenty-something and dressed in a suit he’d put together at Nordstrom Rack.  The man had immediately seen Hux’ eye for style, had appreciated what he’d been able to put together on what was, in the corporate world, a shoestring budget, and had taken Hux under his wing then and there.  

Over the years, Thannison had become something of Hux’ personal stylist - he took note of things he thought would catch Hux’ eye and alerted him when garments in his favorite colors and patterns came into the shop, setting them aside in Hux’ size.  So when he’d held up the pastel tie and asked the man to tell him, honestly, if it was too much, Hux had taken his word for it.  Hux was a bold man, Thannison said, and a bold man made bold styling choices.

Now, he adjusted the tie, his fingers moving through the knot deftly, from years of practice.  The full-windsor knot was his favorite - it spoke of a man who knew what he was doing, who took the time to complete things - and the focus tying it required helped him to ignore the tightness that had settled in his stomach.  It wasn’t nerves, exactly - he’d been planning what he would say down to the last word for the past fourteen days, could have repeated it in his sleep - but _Esquire_ was sending a photographer too, and their email had asked him to be prepared to pose for a “casual” photoshoot in his office.  They wanted him in his element.

That meant there was every chance his would be the cover story, and it would be Hux’ face looking on from newsstands on that glossy cover.

With that in mind, Hux took his phone from his suit jacket and snapped a photo of himself in the  mirror, a serious look on his face.  He debated over sending it to Phasma for a second - she’d been pissy since he’d stood Richard up and was only responding to texts that didn’t have to do with work half the time - but she knew today was the interview.  Hux hoped that was enough to inspire her to go easy on him, so he took his chances and sent it over with the caption: **Appropriately unfeeling?**

Her reply was curt, but probably more encouraging than he deserved.   **Appropriately you, at least.** He was just tucking his phone back into his pocket when it vibrated again.   **Stop primping in front of the mirror.  You’re going to knock them dead.**

So if Phasma hadn’t forgiven him entirely, she was at least on her way there; the thought eased the feeling in his stomach so that he didn’t regret the croissant he’d eaten that morning on the ride into work quite so much.  Maybe he wouldn’t knock them dead, but if he looked as good as he did in a damn selfie taken on an iPhone, he’d at least earn points in the hot asshole category.

By the time Mitaka’s voice came over the intercom to tell him the journalist and his photographer were entering, Hux was seated comfortably at his desk.  He had one leg crossed over the other with a hand around his ankle, his other elbow planted on the arm of his chair, the picture of casual confidence.  He didn’t get up when the two of them entered; instead, he offered them his most winning smile and nodded to indicate that they should sit as well.

“Welcome to Imperial Marketing,” Hux said, leaning forward in his chair, projecting engagement from the start, though he didn’t move his hand from his ankle or straighten his posture.  “I hope you found a warm reception in the lobby.  Everyone here has been highly anticipating your arrival, and I gave strict instructions that you were to be treated with utmost standard of care.”

Hux was proud of his delivery; the words hadn’t come out sounding rehearsed at all.  There was no way they’d be able to tell that he’d delivered that speech approximately 25 times in his bathroom that morning.  He took a pen in his fingers and twirled it between them, focusing on the _Imperial Marketing_ logo stamped on the side.

He’d already known the journalist would be a man - his name, Edwards or something like it, had been detailed in the email Hux received - and he came armed with the thinnest laptop Hux had ever seen, as well as a standard notepad of paper, spiral bound.  Interesting, Hux thought - he hadn’t believed that journalists still used those.  The thing seemed more like a prop out of a movie than something journalists actually carried.  What was the point, technology being what it was?  Then again, maybe that was why the man carried it - out of some sentiment for the romance of his career.  Hux could appreciate that, and he wordlessly moved a stack of papers from the corner of his desk to allow the man space to effectively set up shop.

“Mr. Hux, it truly is a pleasure.”  

The journalist smiled back at him, extending a hand for him to shake - which Hux took, firmly - before accepting Hux’ silent invitation and setting his laptop on the edge of his desk.  He had a pen behind his ear, Hux noted, as well as a good handshake.

“Please, call me Ethan,” Hux corrected, hoping he wouldn’t sound like he was forcing the words out from between his teeth.  He preferred his last name to his first - had never before instructed anyone to call him _Ethan_ in his damn life - but according to Phasma, inviting someone to use your first name created a sense of familiarity.  

(Which, Hux supposed, was probably why he wasn’t privy to that knowledge - there wasn’t much of anyone he wanted to be on familiar terms with.)

“Ethan,” the man agreed, looking like he’d already unlocked some kind of prize.

It turned out Hux had been correct - his name was Edwards, and he introduced his photographer as well, whose name Hux forgot immediately.  She was a pretty girl, with an absurdly large camera slung around her neck, and a sense of style that really had no place in an office building, and she began snapping photos of his office without asking for permission while the interview started in earnest.  This set Hux’ teeth on edge, watching her move his things  - situating them “for better composition,” she said, or placing them in “more flattering lighting.”  He appreciated the artistry, but he allowed very few people in his office - it was second only to his penthouse when it came to privacy, and no one was allowed _there._

“Where to start… you’re a mystery, _Ethan_.”  Edwards’ voice caught on his name, drawing it out; clearly the man was eager to use it, which was almost enough to make Hux want to take back the permission to do so.  “This is the first interview you’ve offered, isn’t it, since opening your firm?”

Hux nodded at that, and turned his chair to rummage through his wine chiller.  Perhaps it was rude to turn away while the man continued, but his photographer had a glass bauble Phasma had bought him when he first moved into this office balanced in one hand and was flipping through the book it had been sitting on with the other.  He needed a drink, or there was no way he would survive this interview without offending the entire staff of _Esquire,_ as well as their parents and grandparents too.

“So whatever I ask you, it’s going to be the first time anyone’s heard the answer,” Edwards continued, and flipped open his notepad, pulling his pen out from behind his ear and waving away Hux’ offer to pour him a glass of Pinot as well.  “I suppose that begs the question: Why now, Ethan?  Publications have been begging you for _years_ to open up, and yet you reach out to _us,_ after nearly a decade of silence.  What’s changed?”

It was a question Hux had been expecting, but he made a show of thinking it over as he poured his wine.  

“Nothing’s changed, I suppose,” Hux lied smoothly - and they both knew he was lying, just as they also both knew Edwards wouldn’t call him on it.  “It just… felt like the right time, you know?”

Edwards nodded knowingly, like he understood a damn thing about Hux’s life.  The man was as good at playing this game as he was.  

“I’m 33 years old - I’m not getting any younger.  I’ve already made my mark.  What use do I have for secrecy?  I’ve nothing to hide, and it’s only right that I pay it forward, as it were.  Let other young business men and women in on my story; maybe there’s something they can take from it.”  He set his wineglass down on the desk and shut his own laptop, spreading his hands wide.  Hux knew enough about the effective use of body language that he recognized how important it was that he make himself appear open.  “So ask me what you will - all your burning questions.  I’m an open book.”

Edwards scribbled something in his notebook, and Hux resisted the urge to lean over and try to catch a glimpse of what he was writing.  Probably describing the way Hux held himself, or the state of the room - something superfluous, like the fact that Hux held his wineglass between his thumb and forefinger, or how the afternoon sun shone on the chrome of Hux’ desklamp.  He’d read enough of these articles to know journalists liked to do that.

“You spoke of your age,” Edwards noted, when he’d finished writing.  “And I don’t blame you.  It’s worth noting that you’re rather young to find yourself in this position, aren’t you?  There aren’t many men in New York who can claim to have founded their own successful marketing firm by 33.  Let alone by -”  He trailed off, tilting his head.  “How old were you when you had the idea for Imperial Marketing?”

“When the idea first came to me?  Probably around 12,” Hux joked.  He played charming well, and he let out a self-deprecating chuckle.  “Of course there aren’t many investors willing to bank on an adolescent.  So I had to put off the whole thing until the rest of the world was ready for me.  I imagine I first truly entertained the idea of opening my own firm around 26?  I was working as the COO of another firm, and I could see that there were so many aspects of the company that weren’t working.  And they weren’t willing to give me the the creative control I needed to _make_ them work.  It was difficult, going to the office everyday and seeing all the little ways we were failing - being unable to do anything to remedy it.”

Hux took a sip of his wine and scratched his beard - he’d been growing it out for the past couple of months, and he still wasn’t sure how much he liked himself with facial hair.  The short-cropped beard wasn’t as itchy as it had been when he’d first started growing it, but it still didn’t feel entirely _him._

“It wasn’t easy, getting my colleagues to take the idea seriously, at first.  I needed investors, of course - you can’t get any company off the ground without them - and there were a lot of questions about whether I had the necessary experience.  I’d only been in the industry for a few years at that point, and I was trying to make my case to people two or three times my age.  But the one thing I’ve always had going for me is my inability to take no for an answer.  I would have knocked on the door of every investor in the city before I’d have given up and settled for what I’d been doing.”

When Hux finished, Edwards was smirking at him like he knew something Hux didn’t, and Hux felt himself bristle in response, straightening his suit jacket.  He didn’t actually believe the journalist capable of pulling one over on him, but it rankled that _Edwards_ believed it.

“But you wouldn’t have had to,” Edwards pointed out, as he tapped his pen against the glass surface of Hux’ desk.  “You had your father, of course.  Brendol Hux is a behemoth in the software industry.  Let’s not pretend you started from nothing - he must have had _something_ to do with your success.  It’s not like he would have left his only son to beg for pennies from investors when he could have bankrolled the first three years of your firm’s operation without his pocketbook even taking note.”

Hux leaned forward in his chair, the leather squeaking with the sudden movement, as he uncrossed his legs, planting his feet firmly on the floor.  He was in Edwards’ space now, and he placed both elbows on the table, regarding the man seriously.  He’d practiced for this question, had known he wouldn’t escape the interview without answering it, but that did nothing to assuage the anger that rose in his chest.  His pulse was leaping in his wrist, keeping time with clock on the wall, and Hux forced himself to breathe before answering.

He couldn’t bite the man’s head off - he _couldn’t -_ no matter how much the asshole deserved it.  How dare he even suggest that Hux hadn’t clawed his way to where he was on his own, that he hadn’t scrabbled for every shred of respect he was met with in the industry, that anything he’d earned wasn’t his due, hard-fought and won with only himself - and later Phasma - at his side?

“My fath - ” he cut himself off, shaking his head.  His anger was making him careless; already he’d fudged the script he planned to use, and Hux surreptitiously crumpled a budget report from finance in his palm, willing himself to find his center.  “Brendol Hux has never and will never invest a dime of his money into Imperial Marketing.  You can pull the investment records if you don’t believe me - they’re already public.  We’re very transparent here.”

Eyes blazing, he held Edwards’ gaze, daring him to take him up on the offer.

“Or you can do your own digging, if you’d rather.  But I can promise you that, while there are a number of investors responsible for the founding of this firm, Brendol isn’t one of them.”

Edwards gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he shook his head.  “No, no, that won’t be necessary, Ethan.  I didn’t mean to offend; of course your successes are your own.  But you must understand; with your age, and your family name being what it is, everyone assumed - “

Hux held up a hand to stop him.

“Well, what everyone assumed was incorrect then,” he said.  “That should come as no surprise.  A journalist like yourself should recognize that, in most cases, what is highly regarded as true turns out not to be at all.  Rumors rely on people stupid enough to believe them.  Men like us, we’re here to fish out the truth, no matter how unsightly or boring it may be, aren’t we?”

That part hadn’t been scripted, and if he was honest with himself, had probably been more bold than was wise, but damn if it hadn’t felt good to watch Edwards flounder as he’d laid into him.  He appraised the fine sheen of sweat along Edwards’ temple and held out a handkerchief to him, obliging, polite, letting the man figure out for himself just how apparent it was that Hux had left him unsettled.  Hux had the upper hand in this conversation, and oh how sweet it was; the least he could do was be a gentleman about it.

Subdued now, Edwards accepted the handkerchief and dabbed at his brow lightly.  

“Of course,” he agreed, still sounding unsure, like he was half-expecting Hux to throw him out on his ear.  Hux understood his sudden bout of apprehension; however long he’d held his current position at _Esquire,_ it wasn’t likely he’d hold it much longer if he managed to lose this interview.  “Of course that’s what we’re here for.  Though I’ve no fear your story will bore anyone, Ethan.”

Hux wasn’t sure about that, the rest of the interview continuing without incident; he answered questions about how he’d chosen the name for his firm, what he liked to do with his time when he wasn’t running the company, whether he felt any affinity for his alma maters.  Nothing of substance, but things that would make readers feel they’d gotten to know him a little, when paired with the carefully lit photos the photographer took throughout.  When Edwards turned his attention to the charity gala Hux had avoided, she twisted the lens to zoom in on Hux’ face, and he struggled to school his countenance into a natural expression, one he would wear if he _wasn’t_ on camera.

He side-stepped that question deftly enough, giving the name of the charity with confidence and citing his private nature as the reason for his absence.  No one could fault him for that, especially as he listed off the 14 charities to whom he’d written checks throughout the year, and Edwards had nodded sympathetically.  It wasn’t until the interview was drawing to a close that Hux was hit with a subject he was wholly unprepared for.  

“So,” Edwards was saying, as he finished recording the greatest piece of business advice Hux had ever been given, “I realize this is an impertinent question, and you’re under no obligation to answer, but you must know there’s been some speculation concerning your personal life.  You’re rarely seen with anyone other than your COO; your name has never been linked to another in the papers.  Isn’t there someone special at home - or failing that, don’t you at least want there to be?”

Suddenly, Hux regretted his choice in wine; he mouth would have dried up even without the effect of the Pinot, and he closed it with a snap.  They’d just discussed his private nature, and now Edwards wanted to plaster his sad relationship status all over the pages of _Esquire?_

“You’re one of the most eligible bachelors in New York,” Edwards explained.  “Young, handsome, massively successful.  Surely you could have anyone you wanted.  There must be a thousand woman who would have you, sight unseen.”  And here, Edwards leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs and looking at Hux meaningfully.  “Or men.”  This was said airily, as if there was no weight to the words.  “If that’s what you’re looking for.”

Hux wasn’t surprised at the rumors regarding his sexuality - they’d been circulating for years, as far back as that first article in the _Wall Street Journal,_ and it wasn’t as if he’d done anything to stop them.  Any time a man reached a certain age and appeared to be unattached, especially if he happened to have an affinity for fine things and the color pink, there was bound to be speculation.  

He’d been answering questions about his sexuality all his life, and while he was private, he certainly wasn’t _ashamed_.  Back in his college days, he’d once answered a rather rude inquiry at a party held in his dormitory’s common room by kissing another boy full on the mouth and watching as he sputtered in shock, his face going pink.  (Hux had been blushing too, but alcohol had always made him flushed, especially back in those days, so he’d been able to hide it better.)  He’d dated that boy for two months after, until his father had found out and threatened to cut off his funding.

It was one of the better memories of his life, and even now, as caught off-guard by the question as he was, it made him smile to look back on it.  His refusal to hide what was, in his opinion, a completely natural affection for other boys had been a thorn in his father’s side since Hux had been old enough to declare a preference - the only difference was that now, Hux found himself in a position where his father could no longer make his life a living hell over it.

“We’ve already discussed my private nature,” Hux said, leaning back to mirror Edwards’ posture as he tried to ignore the sweat gathering on his palms.  “I fail to see why it should come as any surprise that I’m not eager to make my dating life public.  If I _were_ to seek out romantic companionship, no one would know about it - I can assure you of that much.  The truth of the matter is that I’m a busy man; time is a precious commodity in my world, and while it would be… _pleasant_ to have someone with whom I could spend my time, the process of finding that someone requires a dedication to the search that I’m simply not capable of, in my current situation.  Anyway, I’m hardly horrendously lonely, or anything like that - I don’t have the time to be.  And you’ve already mentioned Phasma; she’s as much of a companion as I can manage.”

He chuckled genuinely, hoping they would publish that part; Phasma would shit herself if she saw her name in _Esquire._

“I suppose,” he mused after a moment, speaking mostly to himself now, “were the right man to come along, I’d make the time - or that’s what I’ve been told, at least.  But unless he’s going to come wandering through the doors of Imperial Marketing and throw himself in my path, I’m afraid that’s not going to happen anytime soon.”

Edwards joined in his laughter.  “You’re right, if that’s all the effort you’re willing to put in, I’m afraid you’re going to die alone, Ethan,” he said, and Hux noted how casually the man let slide the fact that Hux had just outed himself, now that he had the information he had been fishing for.

It that wasn’t enough to sell a few copies of this issue of _Esquire,_ Hux wasn’t sure what would be, and he stood up from his desk, cracking the kinks out of his back as he did so.  He’d wasted more than enough of his afternoon spilling details of his life he’d rather keep private; maybe Edwards didn’t have other pressing engagements today, but Hux did.

“Good thing I’ve never minded being alone, then,” he said, the tone of his voice indicating that the interview was over, whether the journalist thought it was or not.  “People are messy, and I don’t like mess.”

After that it was a simple matter of allowing the photographer to snap a few pictures of him lounging against the front of his desk, ass sat just on the edge of it and his arms crossed over his chest, the backdrop of the city framing him.  It didn’t take someone trained in the art to realize it would make a stunning photograph; it was late afternoon by now, and the sun was just peaking out from the skyline to illuminate Hux from behind.  His complexion and hair had always favored this type of lighting, and he reflected on his final words in the interview as he focused on not looking directly at the camera, but somewhere beyond it, as the photographer had instructed.

The words were true enough, he thought.  Other than Phasma - and Thannison on the occasions that he invited Hux to come into the shop either before or after closing, so they could inspect racks of sport jackets and silken ties without interruption - there was not another person on earth whose company he preferred to his own.  He sometimes wondered what it would be like, to have someone to come home to - but just as quickly, he imagined that same someone forgetting to take their shoes off at the door, and marring the one of a kind ivory Karastan carpeting he’d had installed in his foyer with their footprints.  He wasn’t sure any relationship would survive _that_ \- he and that carpeting had been on good terms for three years, after all, since he’d had it installed upon purchasing his penthouse.  That was the kind of commitment Hux valued.

He was thankful he’d had the presence of mind not to have said these things to Edwards, as he escorted the journalist and his photographer to the elevator, and then down to the ground floor.  While he didn’t mind appearing a little cold, just this side of aloof, it wouldn’t do to paint himself a hermit.  Maybe Phasma was right, if he was starting to think like that - he really needed to get out more.

Edwards was gracious as Hux bid him goodbye, taking Hux’s hand in that same, firm grip - that hadn’t changed now that he knew of Hux’ sexality, and Hux chastised himself internally for feeling appreciative of that fact, even now.  

“It was truly a pleasure,” the man said, and Hux wondered if he meant that, or if he was thinking of the pleasure it would undoubtedly be when this article started reeling in awards in journalism.

“Likewise,” Hux agreed, pulling one of his cards - laminated, with rose gold leafing around the edges, Phasma be damned - out of his jacket pocket.  “If you think of anything I’ve failed to cover adequately in our hour together, don’t hesitate to reach out to my assistant.  Mitaka will ensure you’ve got everything you need.”

Perhaps it would have been more polite to give Edwards his direct line, but Hux didn’t wish to establish too much of a rapport with him, lest he blur the lines between personal and professional.  With the interview over, he quite hoped to never speak to the man again - and it was with a heartfelt sigh of relief that Hux watched Edwards depart out the rotating glass door.  Perhaps now, finally, things could get back to normal; they could put this whole fiasco behind them, and Hux would no longer have to assure PR daily that he wasn’t out to slander his firm’s reputation.

Hux typically took the elevators directly to his office, avoiding the more high-traffic areas of the building, but today - with the clock coming up on quitting time for everyone who kept a regular schedule - was different.  He felt light-on-his feet, like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.  For weeks the thought of inviting strangers into the corners of his life he would rather keep private had loomed in the future, and with that behind him, he was taken with a sudden desire to take in the day-to-day goings-on of his company.  These halls were as much his home as his penthouse, and he didn’t see nearly enough of them.  There were entire weeks he went without stepping foot into his administrative division - something he should never have allowed.  Imperial Marketing was _his -_ every part of it, from the check-in desk in the lobby to the snack bar on the 28th floor.  There wasn’t a foot of it that should have been unfamiliar to him.

Locked away as he so often was, it was easy to forget the hustle and bustle that took place down here: printers whirring, churning out the documents that Mitaka would deliver to him, phones ringing incessantly, potential clients making their first point of contact with the firm.  Once, this environment had been Hux’ home; he had began his career in marketing in admin, and he had excelled.  He had a pleasant phone persona and his own efficiency was rivaled only by Mitaka’s.  Being once again “in the fray” as it were, was a good reminder of his roots, of where he had gotten his start - as well as a clever method of scouting for young men and woman within the company who had potential, those he should keep his eye on, who he would take under his wing when the time came for salary review and promotion.

There was rarely a need to announce his presence; as soon as he stepped foot onto the floor, a ripple went through Imperial Marketing’s admin division, any conversations that weren’t immediately work-related dying and assistants burying their noses in the reports they were preparing, as if they’d never seen anything more interesting than the proposal in front of them.  But today, he had barely rounded the first glass-walled cubicle when he heard at first shuffling.  Then shouting, he thought, something breaking perhaps?  And was that - was that _crying?_

While Phasma had, on more than one occasion, told him the rigorous expectations he had for his administrative team were fit to make anyone cry, he’d never thought she was _serious_ , and that was enough to quicken Hux’ step - whatever was going on here had no place at Imperial Marketing, and his immediate reaction was stop it, and _now,_ before any further damage could be done to internal and client relations.  He’d barely squashed one scandal; the last thing he wanted to do was spend the next two weeks trying to contain a second.

The sight he was met with stopped Hux in his tracks, the soles of his shoes skidding on washed concrete as he came to a sudden halt.  Last spring, Hux had invested in new desktop computers for his entire team - the finest Apple produced, with all of the most advanced software in the business pre-installed.  Each one of them had cost him over $3,000 - an expense he’d been trying to justify to accounting ever since.

Three of them were on their sides, the screens cracked - one so badly that a jagged piece of glass had come loose entirely and was shattered on the floor.  In a daze, Hux stepped around it - there was no doubt of what he was seeing, but his brain refused to make sense of it.  The cost of the damage was significant, even to Hux - to anyone else, it would have been astronomical, well into the tens of thousands of dollars.  In an adjacent cubicle, he could see a desk had been overturned, the rolling chair behind it tipped so that it had smashed into the glass of the wall, leaving a hairline crack there as well.

Someone had done this.  The thought was enough to make Hux’ hands ball into fists, the bluntness of his nails biting into his palms.  One of the _idiot doormen_ had been stupid enough to let someone in who would wreck what was _his,_ what he’d worked so tirelessly to build, and there was a dangerous moment where Hux felt a warm, unfamiliar pressure behind his eyes before he blinked it away, his shoe crunching on glass he’d missed.  Likely, he thought dully as he wiped a hand over his face, the sole would require repairing too, but that was insignificant amongst the wreckage.

Not a single assistant was left at their desk; instead, they were all gathered outside of the doorway of one of the cubicles, spilling out into Hux’ path from the elevators, gawking uselessly.  One of the female assistants - Hux recognized her, had seen her in the hallways before, even if they’d never exchanged words - was clutching a phone to her ear, her hand shaking as she attempted to dial.  The floor had gone silent, save for the sound of what Hux now recognized unmistakably as harsh sobbing, the source of which was obscured by the gaggle of people currently refusing to _get out of his way_.

“What’s happening here?” Hux’ words shattered the silence, loud in his own ears, and he winced.

When no one answered, the girl with the phone in her hand taking it from her ear to clutch it tightly to her chest, Hux advanced on the group, fighting to get a grip on emotions that were running too close to the surface.  He was their CEO; he couldn’t be seen losing his cool, even if every part of him screamed to break anything that hadn’t yet been broken.  

“Someone tell me what the devil is going on,” he demanded, their timidness putting him further on edge.  It was a struggle to keep his voice level.  “You answer phones for a living, dammit; I know you’re all capable of speech.”

That did the trick, and the group parted in his wake, the same girl finally answering him.  Her hair had once been slicked back into a bun, it looked like, but it was coming loose, and Hux wondered if she’d been a part of the fray, even if she didn’t look otherwise affected.

"Ben - he’s, he’s -”  

While she stuttered her way toward an explanation, Hux began flipping through names in his mind as he made his way through the crowd, trying to place it, but the name didn’t immediately ring a bell.  

“He lost it.  I don’t know what happened,” she continued, her voice as shaking as hard as her hands had been.  “He broke his computer, the desk, I think.”

(Well, that much was obvious, Hux thought, but he kept his mouth shut.)

“There were a lot of other things too - I couldn’t tell what they were  When I tried to get close enough to see, it looked like he was going to hurt me.  I think he broke someone’s _nose,_ I don’t _know_ \- but there’s blood.  I… it’s… he’s dangerous.  I was trying to call 911.”

 _Blood?_ Hux’ mind caught on the word and refused to move past it.  Sure, the loss of the majority of the tech in admin was a tough blow, but if someone had been injured badly enough to bleed inside of his firm… well, a couple of tens of thousands in damage was the least of his worries.  There would be paperwork to fill out, possible lawsuits - he’d have to contact his team of lawyers as soon as he got whatever this was under control.  His thoughts were spinning, already setting into motion his next five steps as his mouth went dry, but all of this came to a stop when he caught sight of the person he assumed had to be Ben.  

Hux wasn’t sure what he had been expecting, but it wasn’t _this._ He’d been right in that he’d thought he’d heard crying earlier, because Ben was curled in on himself, sobbing right there next to the wreck of his computer, destroyed more thoroughly, even, than any of the others - cords ripped from the wall, the screen gone entirely, littering the floor in shards of glass, and perhaps the worst part was that Ben was _kneeling in it._ He didn’t appear to be aware of this as he buried his face in his hands, the sounds coming from him so gut-wrenching that Hux found himself worried the boy would make himself sick.

It was the first time Hux had seen someone cry in a long time, and Ben was making a show of it, his entire body shuddering with the force of whatever emotion was clawing its way out of him.  When he shifted, Hux could hear the crunch of glass grinding under his knees where they pressed into the floor; the sound made his stomach clench in sympathy, and his first thought was to pull the boy to his feet, danger to himself be damned, before he did more damage.  He hadn’t even known Ben before this, and perhaps he _was_ dangerous - the state of his administrative division spoke to that - but none of that mattered in the face of the way he was shredding the skin of his own damn knees like he didn’t even feel it.

Hux swore he could hear a collective intake of breath when he motioned for the girl to put down the phone without looking back at her and began advancing on Ben, glass shifting under his feet with every step.  

“Don’t you dare punch another number on that phone,” he told her.  “Put it down, right there on the desk - yes, that one, the one that’s still upright - and we’ll see what we can do about making sure you’ll never see anything less than a stellar recommendation from Imperial Marking.  Does that sound fair?”

He glanced over his shoulder long enough to ascertain that she looked dubious, but Hux knew it was an offer she couldn’t refuse, even with her personal safety on the line.  A recommendation from Imperial Marketing meant she would work for any firm in the city she chose, likely for the rest of her career, and after a moment, the girl did as he asked.  

“Good,” he said, unsure, even as the words left his mouth, of what he was thinking.  Of why he’d asked her _not_ to call 911 when everything inside him knew that was exactly what should be done. Hux had been born to follow protocol, and yet here he was, going off-book in every way possible.  “Thank you for keeping a clear head in a difficult situation, while the rest of your team appears to have done absolutely nothing but take notes.  I’ll remember that.”

When he crouched down in front of Ben, careful to ensure he wouldn’t spent his evening picking glass out of his own knees, Hux gasped.  Ben’s hair - dark, Hux noted, almost black but not quite, and very, very thick - was just long enough to drape over his face, obscuring his features, but even still Hux could tell he was young.  A recent college graduate, maybe?  Perhaps even an intern.  But that wasn’t what struck him.  It was the extent of the damage - not to Ben’s computer, but to the boy himself.  Yes, his knees were bloodied - and badly, soaking through the legs of his pants now - but it was his hands that had received the worst treatment.  All the way up to his forearms, he was coated in red, and Hux knew immediately, Ben had hurt no one else as much as he had hurt himself.  The blood was his own, coming from a rather damning cut across four of his knuckles, splayed open, almost, to the bone.  There was no doubt they would require stitches - that already they’d been left open too long, the blood starting to clot, and that there would be scarring.

Ben was so covered in blood that it was difficult to tell if he was otherwise injured, but as he studied him, Hux took stock of what he could make sense of.  He’d torn one of his nails to the quick; it was barely hanging on, and the finger itself had started to swell in a way that indicated it had been dislocated or perhaps broken.  Farther up, on the pale skin of his forearms - _bloodloss,_ Hux’ mind supplied - there were several smaller cuts, one of which, on the sharp angle of his elbow, would need to have the glass removed.  On the side of Ben’s head, where his hair parted to expose his temple, a bruise was darkening, as if he’d smacked it into the corner of one of Hux’ desks - and if it looked like it did right now, it was sure to be spectacular in the morning.

Where before his stomach had dipped uncomfortably, it now sunk straight into his shoes and bottomed out somewhere in the subway tunnel that ran below.  What if he had a _concussion?_ He’d never been quite so close to someone so injured, and though he’d taken first aid classes when enrolled in ROTC as an adolescent, he had no training that would cover _this._ Perhaps he should have had the girl call 911, he thought helplessly, reaching a hand out and letting it hover over Ben’s shoulder - afraid, even, to touch, in case he did more harm than good.  When he went to speak, his throat clicked, and he had to swallow hard before trying again.

“Ben,” he managed, keeping his voice gentle and ducking his head to try to get a glimpse under that curtain of hair, to see if, at least, his face had been spared damage.  This close, he was able to gather that Ben must have fisted his hands in his hair at some point, because a clump of it was wet and shiny with his blood, heavier than the rest and hanging limp, and what Hux could see of his cheek was streaked with it, drying now.

“Ben, are you with us?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The interview in this chapter is a convenient plot device to allow you to get know more about Hux' life. We hope it was effective. :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings include: blood, graphic description of mental breakdown, graphic description of violence, graphic description of injury, suicidal thoughts/ideation, self-harm, mention of a past suicide attempt, mention of past abuse, as well as a hospital setting with description of medical procedures. Please proceed with caution and, if in doubt, skip this chapter. We can give you brief summary over on tumblr if needed.

Ben was tired. So completely and utterly wrung out and drained of all energy, all will, all hope, that he could barely keep himself standing - let alone do his job to the standard that was expected of him. It was nearing three weeks now, since he was thrown out of the house that he had learned the hard way was never truly his home. He’d been living out of shelters since, scrambling to get there in time every afternoon, so he could sleep under an actual roof, have a shower, and even eat something that didn’t come wrapped in cellophane or out of a plastic container. His meds were long gone, and he was still feeling the effects of the various substances leaving his body. Nausea and headaches seemed to be his constant companions now, his focus and attention span got worse by the day. He barely got any sleep to begin with, and when he did, he had nightmare after nightmare until he gave up and got out of bed - it was wearing him out completely, rendering him irritable, moody, jumpy. Everything was always too bright, too loud, too much in his face, too fast moving, and Ben struggled to keep himself calm and grounded. The frailty was coming back again, and it scared him more than he wanted to admit to himself.

He didn’t want to become like that again, to be that thin-skinned, brittle, and _oh so very breakable_ . It was bad enough that he’d gone eight years of his life carrying that feeling around - like his nerves were on the outside and the world was made out of razors and graters, like he couldn’t even keep himself within the lines of his own skin, like he was drowning while on dry land. His arms and legs were already monuments to the full force of his insanity, and while the scars were mostly faded now, Ben knew all too well how easily bad habits and destructive tendencies could be picked up - and his had never been very far beneath the surface even at the best of times. He was scared of himself, so scared, and he had no one to help him cope. After all, who could possibly want to help _him_ ? Why would anyone want to allow the madness parade that was Ben’s entire reality into their lives? Not that he could blame them - he never blamed other people - because _Ben_ didn’t want to be around Ben when he was like that, so why should anyone else? They shouldn’t, that was the thing. Ben’s only talent was destroying everything he touched, be it inanimate objects or other people’s lives, and he had resigned himself to this fact years ago.

He knew this was just the start, too. Soon that darkness would start creeping up at the edges of his mind again, tinting everything in some hopeless shade that wasn’t quite black, not quite grey, not quite brown, but precisely the shade he imagined his headstone to have when he finally cracked. Maybe he’d even succeed this time, but - given his track record - he didn’t count on it. How pathetic was that? He couldn’t even kill himself properl- _no_. Forcing himself away from that particular train of thought, he tried to school his face into something that conveyed a message of ‘business as usual’ rather than something that screamed ‘I’ve been homeless for three weeks and I’m having an actual fucking breakdown’. It was probably only a matter of time before the gig was up, and he really didn’t want to think about it.

It was already becoming so hard to keep his temper in check, to make himself act polite and service minded towards clients and colleagues, and Ben was scared halfway out of his mind of the day he’d finally snapped. Which, if he was to be fairly honest, could quite possibly be today. He’d felt it already when he’d woken up that morning, nightmare after nightmare after nightmare having ruined his sleep and left him with aching muscles and a sore knuckle from where he’d punched the wall at some point. It was mere luck that none of the other guys in the room had woken up and complained - because that shelter was the best one, and Ben really didn’t want to risk being turned away. He was feeling so very on edge, so tense, like his body and mind just couldn’t stop anticipating an attack from anywhere at any second. Tears prickled the corner of his eyes, as if they were just waiting for a reason to spill, he found it hard to breathe - that familiar squeeze of panic tight around his chest - and he seriously didn’t trust his own ability to even open his mouth and speak without accidentally setting all of this chaos loose. He felt about as frail as an eggshell in the palm of a bear, and all he wanted was to hide away until it passed, or until he did - whichever came first, really - but he also knew he needed this job. If he lost this job, then he would have absolutely nothing left - no home, no money, _nothing_ . A lifetime of Leia’s words echoed in the back of his mind: _You’re going to end up just like your grandfather, just you wait. You’ll end up dead in a gutter somewhere, just like his sorry drunkard ass._ Well, right now it sure looked like she would be right. With all the dangerous thoughts, emotions, and impulses swirling around Ben’s mind, he knew they’d probably end up fishing him out of the East River before Christmas .

He really shouldn’t be at work right now. He really, really _shouldn’t_ \- he could feel it down to his very core. As he turned on his desktop, all he could do was pray that the day would pass quickly and without anyone asking him if he was okay - because that would start the waterworks for sure. Ben didn’t cry in public. Didn’t cry at all, if he could help it - crying meant you were weak, he knew that. Han had taught him well. Ben didn’t want anyone to think him weak, couldn’t let them, because weak people didn’t deserve any respect or compassion - that was a lesson he’d learned early. He was weak enough as it was without people actually _knowing_ about it.

Of course, Ben was out of luck - as usual. There was a flu going around, a total of four of his co-workers had called in sick, and due to a series of technical malfunctions a few days earlier that had caused several computers to crash, they were already behind on everything. The barely contained hysteria was practically tangible in the air around them, and people were locking themselves in the bathrooms to cry every other minute. No one wanted the chaos to gain Mr Hux’ attention and add their CEO’s disappointment and accusations of incompetence onto the growing list of things that stressed them all out at the moment. It was not a good environment for a fully medicated and stable Ben; for the current Ben it was nothing short of utter disaster.

He couldn’t focus on anything, it was like his brain had forgotten how to read English - when he tried to finish at least one of his assigned reports and protocols the text blurred in and out of focus, he couldn’t read the words already written, and he simply could not type down any new ones. His brain was so completely overloaded it essentially just blanked out, leaving him even more panicky and frustrated with himself. And it sure as hell didn’t help that five different people seemed to be taking turns showing up just behind his back, demanding his attention every other minute in an endless row of ‘ _Ben, can you write this memo real quick_ ’ or ‘ _Ben, how’s that protocol from the staff meeting coming along?_ ’ or _'B_ _en, I’m so swamped right now, can you take these things off my hands, please.'_ There were also a fair few ‘ _Ben, can you watch my phone while I pop out for a smoke? Great!'_ and ‘ _Ben, I don’t understand this report, can you explain it to me?_ ’  With every passing minute it was getting harder and harder to keep his cool. He hadn’t been able to even go on a bloody bathroom break so far, and it was nearly lunch time - not that he even had any lunch with him today, hadn’t for more than a week now - and he was every bit as swamped as the rest of them, and he was also completely terrified for quite different reasons than the others. He could feel it, the rage; it had been simmering close to the surface for days, and now he could feel it starting to boil - closer to breaking through, breaking out, with every passing minute. So far today he’d snarked over a dozen times at people, and for every new, indignant ‘ _I was just asking!_ ’ that came his way, he took a new, giant leap towards a fit of rage of the kind that would get him fired, if he was _lucky_ , and arrested for assault if he wasn’t.

Breaking point came when the guy he shared his desk with - Bryan? Benny? Brendan? Whatever his name was - spilled an entire cup of hot coffee all over Ben’s keyboard, the three different stacks of freshly printed memos and reports to be delivered up to other departments, his cellphone, and his lap. There wasn’t even time to tell the guy to get away, because when he laughed out an _'Oops! Sorry about your pants, mate!_ ’ - in a voice that most certainly wasn’t sorry at all - Ben could feel the snap in his mind, how any semblance of control just burst out of his hands. After that, everything just went… _black_.

\---

Of all the things the administrative department had expected and/or feared would happen that day - that quiet oddball Ben Solo completely losing his shit and turning the office upside down sure wasn’t one. He was usually so damn awkward, and meek, and just… such a _weirdo_ , that they all kinda just left him to his own devices. It wasn’t that they disliked him as such, he just wasn’t… well, he just wasn’t the same as them. Something was always _off_ about him - like, legit off, if those pills he used to take at lunch were anything to go by - so people kept their distance. During the year he’d been there, they’d kind of all dismissed him as a pushover, who may or may not be a little less smart than average. It was a mystery as to why he’d been given this job, considering he couldn’t handle people at all, much less numbers. All of them had sort of believed him to be that big, oafish type who couldn’t stand up for himself to save his life - and now all they could do was watch in horror as that presumed giant dork of a person went from doormat to Hulk in about point five seconds. No one was even sure what the hell happened - suddenly there had just been a crash, which turned out to be Ben’s fist going _right through the screen_ on his computer, followed by a series of more crashes as he threw it to the floor along with everything on his desk. Desks were flipped over, things broken and thrown across the room - it was like he’d turned into some sort of embodiment of pure destruction; _nothing_ was left whole in his wake, everything was in pieces. What used to be a fairly standard open-plan administrative department - albeit a more high-end one than most - was now looking more and more like a scrap heap by the second. A scrap heap, or something out of Mad Max. Ben was cursing to high heavens, and it left little room for doubt as to what he thought about all of them, their attitudes, their jobs, where he thought they should go, and what they could do to themselves once they got there.

He was fucking _scary_.

Most of them never thought one person could cause this level of destruction until this moment, but with the way Ben looked - with those eyes that were dead, shark-like, yet still somehow promising brutal murder to anyone who came close, and with his hands and clothes covered in blood from where he’d hurt himself on the glass of all the screens he’d sent flying - they had trouble remembering a time they’d been more terrified. Two of the more bulky guys in the department tried to play heroes and stop him, but one came away with what looked like a broken nose, and the other was simply thrown like a rag across a desk, causing him to hit the floor at a bad angle, twisting his knee as he landed. At that point, they decided to evacuate out into the larger reception area by the elevators, and call the police - or at least security. Someone who could deal with this. He was dangerous, for fuck’s sake!

Just as they were debating which option seemed most sensible, Ben seemed to have run himself out of every last bit of energy, sinking to his knees in the middle of what remained of their office, chest heaving from the exhaustion, eyes swelling up with tears - all in all, he looked like the perfect embodiment of the word ‘pathetic’. That didn’t mean they didn’t fear him anymore; no, they debated back and forth for a moment, but in the end, a decision was made to call 911. This man had assaulted two colleagues and destroyed an entire office - he had to be dealt with accordingly.

Coming back into himself was always a horrible experience, like drifting towards the surface of some deep, dark well, then suddenly being hit in all senses at once - everything fucking _hurt._   He almost didn’t dare to lift his gaze from where it was apparently glued to the floor; he didn’t want to know how bad it was. Tears were already burning in his eyes, spilling over so easily now that he didn’t have any energy left with which to hold them back, deep sobs tearing through his body - painful and desperate, making it hard to draw breath. Daring a glance around him, he saw all the destruction left in his wake, and he just _knew_ . This time he wouldn’t be able to get out of it with less than jail time. He knew it down to his very core, and while the thought scared him more than anything else in this world - because people like him didn’t do so well in jail - he simply could not make himself care. It was almost… a _relief_ . Rock bottom. He had _finally_ hit rock bottom - nothing could be worse than this. Any moment now, the cops would come storming in and take him away, and then he’d be finished. He _knew_ that. He wouldn’t last a week in prison, not with his brain, and Han and Leia would get to tell him that they told him so. He wondered why he had been stupid enough to ever think differently, because of course he would fuck it up. It was the only talent he had, wasn’t it?

He was vaguely aware of the crowd of people in the reception area by the elevators, the murmurs and whispers, the frightened glances, and the pitying ones. _God, what a sad sight he must be!_ Shame burned in his gut, tinting his face and neck a deep shade of red, and he fixed his gaze on the floor again, trying to get himself to stop this fucking _crying_ . He _had_ to stop crying - didn’t want the people out on the streets, the cops, anyone, to see him reduced to this ugly mess. He didn’t need more people witnessing his humiliation. It was bad enough as it was without the whole world knowing just how weak and pathetic he actually was. He should just… just get the hell out of here and jump off the nearest fucking bridge.

He’d be doing the whole world a favour. A favour that was, frankly, way overdue.

A certain dizziness was beginning to set in, the headache seemed to have doubled in size, his limbs felt heavy, awkward, and he felt strangely tired. It was becoming rather difficult to focus, and he felt sluggish, off, like he was trying to think through a layer of cotton - but he didn’t get to examine the cause of it, as a pair of feet in very expensive shoes came into his view, and someone crouched down next to him. Daring a peek, he cautiously glanced up, and went several shades paler before quickly turning his head away again. Even in this state, Ben knew an executive when he saw one - and, judging by the obviously expensive suit, this guy came straight from the top. _Shit_.

The man was saying something to him, Ben realized, but his brain was far too chaotic, far too foggy, to really make out exactly what it was. His name, maybe? Something else as well. Shit. He had to do something, say something, _anything_!

“I-I’m sorry, sir!” he blurted out. “I- I’ll pay for all the damage, I promise! I’m _so sorry_ , I- there is no excuse, I’ll go quietly, I promise!” He didn’t know why he even tried - the man had no reason to be lenient with him at all. But apologies were, at the very least, something he was good at. He’d been apologizing for his existence for as long as he could remember. “I’m so, _so_ sorry! I… I didn’t mean to-... I just… I’m so _sorry_!”

It wasn’t enough. Of course it wasn’t! Nothing was ever enough to take away something this bad. Ben knew from experience that the bigger the mess, the less people gave a shit about his apologies. He’d only just finished paying for his last major bout of destruction - and it had taken years - and then _this_ happened.

But to his enormous surprise - shock, even - he didn’t get yelled at. The man didn’t, in fact, say anything even remotely angry or annoyed, and Ben was all kinds of confused. Or, as confused as he could manage to be with the dizziness and headache getting worse by the second. Something was really bad, he knew it. Something had gone very, very wrong. _Bloodloss_ \- the word echoed around in his mind. He’d been through it before, and he felt the fear grip him again. Was he actually about to bleed out on the floor of his own fucking workplace? After all the times he’d hurt himself, _this_ was going to be the time he actually croaked? Right here, in front of all these people?

A hand landed on his shoulder, and even though the touch was in itself very gentle, Ben couldn’t stop himself from violently flinching at the contact. It had been so long since anyone touched him - properly _touched_ \- and even longer since it had been a friendly touch. The bartender the other week didn’t really count. That was pure necessity, nothing else - he knew that. This was a friendly attempt at calming him, at comfort, but Ben didn’t know how to handle that anymore. Daring a peek at the man again, Ben was, even in his dazed condition, blown away by his striking features. That hair… Ben had never seen anything quite so red, which was saying a lot considering he was probably bleeding bright red all over himself right now. The man was speaking to him again, and Ben struggled to focus, to hear him. It still didn’t sound angry, and Ben cautiously raised his head a bit so he could look him in the eyes. It sent the world spinning, and he had to close his eyes for a moment to try and combat it. _Shit_ . This was _so_ bad. Apparently noticing his struggle, the man carefully repeated his words.

“....-o the hospital. But first we need to stop this bleeding, okay?”

The hospital? Oh, no. No, no, _no_. He didn’t want to. He really didn’t. But given how he felt, and the way this executive guy was looking at him, he probably really needed to. It didn’t mean he would just surrender, though.

“P-please,” he managed to croak out between sobs. “N-no ambulance. _Please_.”

That was humiliation on a level he just couldn’t stand right now. He’d already done it twice before, and he knew that being stared at by a crowd of nosy strangers as they rolled him out onto the street and then into the ambulance in all his blood-soaked glory would only worsen everything he was currently feeling. He could only hope this man would take pity on him and grant that one request.

\---

Hux kept his hand anchored on Ben’s shoulder, even as he flinched away as if the touch hurt.  He knew that it didn’t - he kept his hold as light as he could, fingers resting over the prominent curve of Ben’s collarbone - and he didn’t trust in the boy’s ability to keep himself upright if he let go.  Though he was bleeding more sluggishly now, that wasn’t necessarily a good sign - Hux suspected that only meant he didn’t have much blood left to lose.  The hand on Ben’s shoulder was coated with it now too - when had that happened? - and it took all of Hux’ resolve to ignore the feeling of it going tacky in the spaces between his fingers.  

His suit jacket was ruined, the once-charcoal cuffs tinted with rust - this was the kind of stain that even his favorite dry-cleaner wouldn’t be able to get out - but that was the least of the things he’d lost today.  Tens of thousands of dollars in tech equipment, the sole of his shoe, this suit jacket - they were all write-offs that he couldn’t allow himself to think about if he didn’t want to add Ben’s life to the list.  

Hux would be damned before let that happen.  He’d never met the boy sprawled in front of him before this - distantly, he wondered how long he’d worked for his company, how many others were employed there whose names he’d never bothered to learn - but he was certain he’d remember Ben’s face if he’d seen it even once.  Even with the blood streaked along the arch of his cheekbone and up the bridge of his nose, where he’d scrubbed at his face while crying, his features were unmistakable.  Remarkable, Hux might have thought had he more time to consider it.  At this angle, crouched with his head cocked so he looked down on Ben, he could see that the boy’s hair was at an awkward length, so that it curled just below his ears.  It looked like he had been growing it out before all of this, but it did little to distract from the set of his mouth, which was wide and soft.

It was the kind of mouth that was made for smiling, Hux thought, which was inane, because Ben was still crying his heart out, his chest hitching in a way that made Hux’ own breathing stutter in time.  He’d opened his eyes to look up at Hux - deeper brown than they had any right to be on someone so pale - and he imagined they might have been pretty, were the pupils not blown as they were.  If Ben wasn’t in already in shock, he was headed there quickly; shivering was setting in now, making the muscles in his arm jump and start under Hux’ hand.  It was not the time to appreciate the line of Ben’s blood-smeared nose, which looked like it had been broken more than once - nor was it the time to investigate why that was so appealing to him.

Praying Thannison would forgive the offense, Hux jammed two fingers under the knot of his tie and, before he could think too much about what he was about to do, loosened it roughly so that he could pull it over his head, trying to not feel the way the fine silk slid through his fingers as he did so.  He’d purchased the tie specifically for today, he told himself; he just never imagined this would be the way he would use it.  After the amount of money he’d seen dissolve over the past ten minutes, what was another $450 anyway?  Still, he couldn’t hide his wince as he wound the bolt of silk around the worst of Ben’s cuts, the one that had split his knuckles near to the bone.  Within moments, the tie was growing wet, the spot of red over the pink spreading, and Hux pressed down with all of his weight behind it.  Silk wasn’t ideal for absorbing anything, but it was what he had at hand, and it would have to do for now.

He remembered enough from ROTC that he knew applying pressure was essential in getting the bleeding to stop - perhaps this was to be the only one of his father’s lessons for which he would owe the man a shred of thanks - so he didn’t let up, even when Ben made a little whimpering sound at the treatment.  He knew it hurt.  It had to; Ben’s fingers were splayed open, but Hux steeled himself to it as he dug into the wound for all he was worth, willing this to work, his hand wrapped tightly around Ben’s while the fabric separating them bled through.   

“Shhhh,” he soothed, wrapping the hand that wasn’t occupied with trying to keep Ben’s blood inside him around the boy’s shoulders.  “Don’t squirm about.  You’re going to make it worse.”

Hux wasn’t entirely sure that was true - it already looked as about as bad as he could image it being, but he’d found that in emergency situations, taking charge and giving people something - _anything_ \- to do sometimes helped.  Ben was shivering hard enough that his teeth knocked together, hard enough that the force of it moved up Hux’ arm, but he could see that at least Ben had understood, going rigid and trying to suppress the way his body shook as he looked to Hux for further instruction.

“You’re doing so well, Ben,” Hux said, the words tumbling out, nothing he ever could have rehearsed.  He’d never been good at offering comfort - never been at connecting on a personal level at all.  He could be civil.  Professional.  Charming, even, as his interview could attest.  (And a small part of him remembered to thank whichever force in the universe had seen Edwards out that door before he’d stumbled upon this.)  But this was uncharted territory.  

 _You’re going to make it worse_ , he’d told Ben - and now, he thought, it was quite possible he might be the one to do exactly that.  But he was in for penny, in for a pound, in for all he was worth - had been since the moment he’d stopped the call to 911, really.  The time for backing out was long past, and he continued, barely able to recognize his own voice.  

“What’s so bad about an ambulance, now?,” he asked, cautiously loosening his hold on Ben’s hand so he could peek at the damage underneath.  Satisfied that the the tie was at least keeping anything essential from ending up on the outside, he tied the thing off, tight, like he’d learned as a teenager, which earned him a yelp from Ben.  It was the first time he’d practiced the technique in years, but it appeared he hadn’t lost his knack for it entirely.

“There, that’s better,” he said, patting the makeshift bandage and squinting now at the rapidly spreading bruise on Ben’s temple, now that the immediate threat of him dropping dead from blood loss had, apparently, passed.  “But you’ve bled quite a lot, haven’t you?  Don’t you think you should let the doctors have a look at you?  I can’t imagine you’re feeling very well right about now, and I’m afraid I don’t have the training necessary to do much to fix that.”

It took three rather pathetic-looking attempts before Ben managed to convince his clattering teeth to let him speak, and when he did manage, it was barely even audible.

“N-no, ambulance… P-please... No ambulance...”

He looked up at Hux, the single most heart-wrenching display of sad and lost puppy eyes Hux had ever seen hitting him at full force - only amplified by the sorry state he was in.

There were many perks to Hux’ status - the macchiatos he had waiting on his desk upon arrival every morning, whether or not they’d been prepared to his specifications, the voice-activated home entertainment center that knew him well enough that his favorite music came on low as soon as he stepped through the door to his penthouse, the view from those picture windows in his office that lesser men would _kill_ for - but right now, looking at Ben’s bloodied face, there was none he appreciated more than his personal car and driver.  The hand that had previously held Ben’s dug into Hux’ pocket and removed his phone, his finger leaving behind a bloody print when he unlocked it.  

 **Have my car brought around front in five - no longer.  I’ll be outside waiting.  Tell the driver not to ask questions.** He waited only long enough to see the little bubbles that indicated Mitaka was replying before pocketing it again.

“Alright, so let’s say we axe the ambulance.”  He kept the words light, as if Ben was a friend and he was suggesting Greek rather than Indian for dinner.  “I’m willing to compromise on this one.  Have you ever ridden in a town car, Ben?”  

That had Ben sputtering in panic as Hux, as carefully as he could, got him off the floor and threw the slightly less damaged arm over his shoulder so Ben could lean on him for support.

“B-but- but I’ll… the blood. Y-your car...”

Hux gently shushed at him.

“I think a few ruined car seats is a small price to pay for getting you proper treatment, yes?”

\---

Hux’ driver truly embraced his inner fantasies about a Nascar career, and they arrived to the hospital faster than what should be possible given what city they were in. At least they hadn’t received the attention of any traffic police - which was nothing less than a miracle - and it was something to be grateful for, Hux realized, as the E.R staff took one look at Ben, and suddenly the world was a flurry of activity.

Ben hated hospitals. Just hearing the word made him all tense, and here he was - nurses and people everywhere, poking and prodding and asking a million questions all at once. They got him into a room and out of his clothes, dressing him instead in one of those horrid backwards gowns. The last time he’d been wearing one was last year, after one very spectacular overdose, when he’d woken up in the hospital with a furious Leia next to his bed. Everything had been so blurry that time, but Ben could’ve sworn he recognized at least two of the nurses - and what was worse; they recognized him too. A barrage of questions came his way again, someone was saying something about his medical records and getting Doctor Something-or-other in the room. For the most part, the nurses were very sweet and gentle with him, but Ben was too shocked to really appreciate it at that time.

The doctor, an elderly man whom Ben was ashamed to admit had seen him in here before - and more than once - came in, and poked about for a while, albeit not nearly as gently as the nurses had. He muttered to himself as he moved Ben’s fingers, his wrist, the elbow, looking closely for what might suggest a fracture - and Ben tried and failed to hold back on a small, pathetic cry of pain whenever he bent his fingers a fraction of an inch too far in one direction. He was swelling up badly, and this seemed to concern them greatly. The doctor had him sent off to get an x-ray - in a wheelchair, as if it wasn’t humiliating enough already - and after he came back to the room, the wait for the results seemed endless. They’d given him something for the shock, but he was still feeling rather horrible and scared and confused. Everything was happening so quickly, and then suddenly everything seemed to grind to a halt - and they still hadn’t fixed his wounds. He wasn’t bleeding anymore, that much was clear, but they’d hooked him up to a blood-bag, and he was back into himself enough to know that that was _bad_. (They’d put it in the back of his left hand, saying they couldn’t seem to find the blood-vessels in the crook of his arm for all the scar tissue he had there, and it didn’t exactly help Ben to hear that).

He’d also noticed that the man from the office - the executive guy - was still there, and he didn’t really know what to do with that. Why hadn’t he just gone back to work? He had no obligation to be here with Ben - Han and Leia had barely set foot in the E.R when he’d hurt himself before, so why did a guy who didn’t even know him feel like he should stay? Pity? Ben hoped not. He wasn’t worth the pity. And he was incredibly embarrassed by his own looks right now; there had to be scarecrows sexier than Ben Solo in that moment. Then he felt ashamed for thinking about his looks - how vain was he, if that was something he actually worried about when he may or may not just have lost an arm? Maybe Leia was right about that. Maybe he really just was self-centered, vain, and spoiled. How else could he explain wanting to look good in front of a man he’d never even met before, whose name he didn’t even know, and who probably thought Ben was the most pitiful thing he’d ever seen.

When they injected the local anaesthetics so that they could get to work fixing his wounds up, he started crying again - eyes fixed on the clock hung just above the doorway, and an old, experienced nurse gently stroking his hair and telling him he was doing really good.  

The doctor came in once they were finally stitching the wounds up - Ben almost threw up when he finally managed to look at them. He’d done some sick things to his body before, but he’d never quite managed this level. Or, well, not without intention to do so. There were a few scars that were in the same league, but he had those for entirely different reasons than a fit of rage. There were no fractures, the doctor told him, which was good, but also something of a lesser miracle. Could Ben explain what happened, now that he had calmed down some? All Ben could offer was a very meek and mumbled:

“I just… got _so_ angry. I don’t… don’t remember much...” He gave a little nod in the executive guy’s direction. “M-maybe he- maybe he can say more?”

The doctor hummed a little.

“In a minute.” He fixed Ben with a very steady glance. “I’ve taken a look at your records, Ben. You’ve been in here a lot, haven’t you?” Ben bowed his head, and he would’ve blushed furiously from the shame if he’d had enough blood in him with which to do so. “Are you taking your medications?”

“N-no,” Ben stammered. “I’m- I don’t h-have a-any left. No prescription.”

“Hm.” The doctor scribbled something down in his notepad. “Then I’ll make sure your prescriptions are renewed right away. I need to consult one of our psychiatrists, though, to make sure we send you home with a proper plan for your medication. Are you seeing any psychiatrist of your own? Or psychologist?” Ben shook his head again, and the doctor made another note. “Would you like the psych team to come down and talk to you, or provide the contact info for a psychiatrist? Or do you maybe have someone you prefer?”

“I-I know one. I’ll c-call her t-tomorrow.”

“Good. Now, you may have gotten away without any fractures, but those are still some very serious wounds, and three of your fingers are dislocated. That’s rather severe, Ben, and I’ll be putting you on some antibiotics, ten days - three times a day - and you’ll have to get someone to help you change the dressings once a day. Again, given your records, I’m certain you’re almost as good at wound-care as our nurses, but I still have to remind you to be careful when you shower, so that no water gets stuck under the compresses and cause an infection. No touching the wounds, either - but you know that already, I’m sure. And you’ll need to make an appointment in ten to fourteen days to have the stitches removed.” Another one of those stern looks, and Ben tried to focus on meeting it, instead of on what the nurses were doing to his arm. “Given your state when you were brought in, and the nature of your wounds, I don’t believe it was a suicide attempt this time. Am I right?”

“Y-yes! I swear, I didn’t- I just.. No. No, I wasn’t trying to….”

“Good. But again, given your records, I’d very much like you to consider allowing us to check you into the psychiatric ward for a few days - you know, just to make sure you’re okay. I can’t force you, of course, but I’d strongly recommend it.”

Ben shook his head with as much force as he could.

“No. I don’t want to. I-I’m fine. I just… I just need to call my psychiatrist. I’ll be fine.”

The doctor obviously did not approve of his answer, but they both knew that unless Ben stated that he wanted or thought about making an attempt at his own life, or - for that matter - any intentions of harming himself again, there was very little the E.R personnel could do. They had to let him walk.

“Then I strongly suggest you call her first thing in the morning,” he said. “Now, you need to stay put for a while longer. It’ll take a little while before we’ve replaced that blood you lost, and I need to get your medication sorted. The nurses will of course help you with whatever you need, and I’ll make sure your prescription is in order by the time you leave.” He got to his feet. “Now, I hope you won’t get yourself into this sort of mess again. You’re much too young to be doing this to yourself.”

He left the room, and the nurses - now all done stitching and wrapping his arm up in bandages - helped him lie down more comfortably on the bed and got an extra blanket out as he was still shivering. Then they, too, left the room, and left Ben alone with the nameless executive man. Silence had never felt quite so scary before, and Ben tried to hide his left arm - all the scarred tissue on full display now that he didn’t have a shirt on to cover it with - under the blanket as well, with very little success. But he tried anyway, didn’t want this man to see that awful, broad, long scar that ran along his forearm from his wrist and up toward his elbow - its twin was at least covered by stitches and bandages, but this one was awfully visible, and Ben really _didn’t_ want to talk about it. The scars went almost up to his shoulder in some places, it was impossible to hide it all. He felt so ashamed, so stupid, so completely fucking useless, and he couldn’t even get away; the blood-bag connected to his arm, paired with the fatigue and sluggishness from the meds, kept him more or less chained to the bed until the nurses came and freed him.

\---

Hux leaned against the wall as the nurses excited the room, arms crossed over his chest in an attempt to conserve heat in the chill that always seemed to come with hospital corridors.  (And what sense did that make?  Shouldn’t sick people be kept _warm?)_ He’d shed his suit jacket in the car on the way over - the two of them appeared enough of a gory mess without Hux looking like he’d spent the better part of an hour up to his elbows in blood, and the smell was making him sick - but now he regretted it, goosebumps raising the fine hairs on his arms.  

Hux had never been a coward; his father might have disagreed, might have called him weak and deficient, but Hux knew better.  He’d faced head-on things that would have made better men shrink away, had stood firm as the ground shifted beneath his feet a thousand times, but propped up against the concrete wall of Ben’s hospital room, there was a part of Hux that, perhaps for the first time, truly wanted to run.  Ben had been crying on and off since the nurses had begun their work; while he was no longer sobbing as he had at the office, he sniffled intermittently, tears leaking down his face.  He’d stopped trying to scrub them away long ago, and there was something vacant about the way he responded to treatments Hux was certain had to hurt like hell.  Not like someone trying to be brave, but like someone who truly didn’t _care_ what was being done to him.

The thought chilled Hux more than the artificially recycled air pumping through the hospital’s vents, and he squeezed his arms more tightly around himself.

It would have been so easy to leave, to return to his penthouse, to kick his shoes off at the door and bag up what was salvageable of his clothing for the cleaners to take away in the morning.  To get into his shower and turn it on the hottest setting, to burn away the memories of Ben’s blood on his hands and in his nose, and to return to work in the morning, all of this behind him, the remnants of a bad dream.  If he put his mind to it, he knew, he could convince himself it had never happened at all.  He had to replace the computers, of course, the glass that had surrounded Ben’s cubicle. Had to speak to everyone in the admin department who had been affected by the display.  It would take days - weeks - to clean up the fallout from this, but he could do it.  He’d dealt with worse.

Yes, to leave would have been the easy thing.  The efficient thing.  The smart thing - and Hux could not recall a time in his life when he hadn’t done what was _smart._ So he could not say what compelled him to step away from the wall and closer to Ben’s bed, heart lodged in his throat and sweat chilled on the back of his neck.

Ben was curled up as tightly as space would allow, trying to turn on his side so he could face the wall, though the IV in his hand prevented him from turning away entirely.  While the team of nurses had cleaned each of his cuts and splinted the fingers that were only disjointed, thankfully not broken, they hadn’t done anything for the blood staining his face.  Restoring Ben’s vanity hadn’t been the priority, and drying tear tracks cut through the mess left behind.  His cheeks were pink from crying, his eyes clenched shut, while he stifled little distressed sounds that Hux was certain he hadn’t heard anyone make since he was a child.

In the silence, Hux cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry about all of this,” he managed, because he really was.  He was sorry he wanted to leave Ben in this state, sorry he wasn’t better at this, sorry for whatever was happening to the boy in front of him.   _Suicide attempt.  Psychiatrist.  Medication._ This wasn’t something he understood, though he’d read about things like this, had an aunt who had once had some kind of breakdown.  He remembered his father talking about her over dinner once, shortly after it had happened, as if she wasn’t human.  As if she was something for Hux to be afraid of, something for Hux to be afraid of _becoming,_ and the thought made his stomach churn uneasily.

There were scars covering the one of Ben’s arms that hadn’t been wrapped in bandages - faint things, fine and thin.  A few of them on their own would not have been damning, Hux realized; it was the sheer _number_ that had him grabbing onto the bars on the side of Ben’s bed to steady himself.  There were hundreds of them, so many that Hux struggled to find an unmarked patch of skin on the translucent skin of Ben’s forearm.  Whatever had happened to Ben today hadn’t been unprecedented, he knew that now; this wasn’t the first time Ben had hurt himself.  There had been times before this, times when Hux hadn’t been there to stop him.  Times, maybe, when those who _had_ been there had run, like Hux wanted to.  

...Hux had never been in so far over his head.

“Not a very good way to spend a Friday evening, is it?” he forced himself to say when Ben didn’t answer him, his voice choked in a way he wouldn’t have been able to explain had someone asked.  “I have this friend - she always makes fun of me for spending my Friday nights working, but bloody hell, at least my office has a view.  Look at that, they’ve placed a trash bin directly outside our window.  What’s a man got to do for a city view in this place?”

It was a rather unfunny joke, in Hux’ opinion, and it should have fallen flat, but when he looked at Ben, the corner of his mouth was quirked up just a fraction.  Amusement, Hux thought, or maybe just surprise, but it was more of a reaction than Ben had given any one of the nurses who’d touched him so far.

He’d been right - Ben’s was a mouth made for smiling.  Even that brief quirk of his lips showed off the lopsided set of his features, which somehow, inexplicably, complemented everything else he’d come to know about the boy in front of him over the past several hours.  Looking down at Ben, Hux couldn’t stop the way his own lips twitched up in turn, and of its own accord, his hand came to rest at the back of Ben’s head, moving over his dark hair in the way the nurse’s had earlier.  It had seemed to soothe him a little, and while it wasn’t much, it was the least Hux could do.

He could feel Ben at first tense and then sigh under the touch, the way it moved his shoulders up and down, and just when Hux thought the touch may have been unwelcome, less comforting than he intended, Ben twisted his head around just enough to get a look at Hux, looking so tired and wrung out that Hux was surprised he was still conscious at all.

“Not completely destroying the office where he works would probably be a good start,” Ben said with a self-deprecating little quirk of his lips - his voice hoarse from crying and exhaustion.

The quip caught Hux off-guard, and he let out a surprised bark of laughter.  “I suppose you’re right,” he agreed, a soft smile on his face and an undeniable fondness taking root in his chest.

These were the first words Ben had spoken to him that didn’t consist of him begging, and his voice, while a deep baritone that might have been smooth had it not sounded like he’d gargled on glass from his computer screen, still came out disconcertingly young.  Hux had done the math when he’d confirmed his date of birth for the nurses, and if Ben was telling the truth, it meant he was 25 - but that was hard to believe, with his hair tucked behind prominent ears like it was and a voice that wouldn’t have sounded out of place coming from someone fresh out of high school.

He hadn’t moved his hand from Ben's head, and he allowed himself to slide a few strands between his fingers while the boy rested, humming low in the back of this throat.  It wasn’t until then that Hux realized he hadn’t gotten the chance to wash his hands yet, and he watched them pet Ben’s hair in detached fascination, as if they belonged to someone else.  He hadn’t left this room since they’d begun patching Ben back together, and the blood between his fingers had dried stiff and uncomfortable, cracking with each of Hux’ movements.  Strange.

Just when Ben had started to drift, his eyes opening and closing sluggishly, going crossed in his attempts to keep them focused, the door opened and the nurse who had completed Ben’s initial examination stepped inside, a clipboard in one hand and a clear plastic bag of orange medication bottles in the other.   She smiled at Hux, who pulled his hand away from Ben’s head as if he’d been caught doing something he couldn’t, awkwardness making him shift from one foot to the other.

“Okay, Ben,” she said, her voice soothing as she addressed the boy curled on his side, as if Hux wasn’t there at all.  “I know you know the drill, but we’re going to go over it one more time, just to make sure, okay?”  She waited for Ben to give her a little nod, his eyes fluttering closed again in the moment that took, and she gave a little _tsk_ sound before continuing.  

“Most of the medications you’ve been given are nothing new.”  She tucked the bag under her arm to open the chart in her hands.  “Lithium - you were on that one up until quite recently, weren’t you?  And Zyprexa, it says here you were prescribed that once before too, about a year ago.  We’re hoping that one will be temporary, but it looks like it worked well for you last time, so for the time being, we’re going to stick with it.”  She flipped a page.  “The doctor’s also prescribed a couple of sedatives - Atarax and Intermezzo - to help keep your sleep cycle on track.  The Intermezzo’s pretty fasting acting, so it’s best to take it right before bed, but you knew that already didn’t you?”  She gave Ben a knowing look.

“Look, we both know this is all old hat to you, but you’ll still want to pay careful attention to the instructions on the bottles.  We’ve adjusted your dosage on some of them, as it appears you might have been struggling a little more than you let on, hmm?”

Ben squeezed his eyes shut at the sympathetic note in her voice, another tear escaping to drip down the side of his nose as he nodded miserably, and Hux stepped forward again, awkwardness be damned, to put his hand back on the boy’s head, swallowing hard.  He’d known there was something wrong with Ben from the moment he’d seen him collapsed in the wreckage of his administrative division, but hearing this woman recite the lineup of medication he would be required to take made the seriousness of Ben’s situation all the more real.  It was staggering, overwhelming, and he wasn’t even the one going through it; he couldn’t imagine what Ben must have felt.

“We’re going to do what we can to help with that,” the nurse was saying, though she’d let the pages of Ben’s file flip closed.  “But it’s vital that you see your psychiatrist right away.  And that you keep track of any new side effects you might experience.  It’s not good for you to go off your medications the way you did, without warning, and that may have given your system a little shock.  It’s going to take some time to adjust, but we don’t want you to suffer needlessly.  You’ve done this before - if something doesn’t feel right, it’s your job to tell us.”

“As for medications you might not be so familiar with, the doctor’s prescribed a broad spectrum antibiotic to help ward off infection from any of the cuts you received today.  It’s important that you take these until they’re gone, even if you don’t feel sick - and I want you to promise you’ll take them with food, whether you’re hungry or not.  These things can be hard on your stomach, and we can't have you dropping any more weight.  You’re 25 pounds underweight for someone your height as it is.  Lose any more and it’s not going to be up to you whether you’re stuck here or not, understand?”

Ben nodded again, sniffling, tucking his bandaged arm to his chest and hugging it close, while Hux fought the urge to pull his hospital gown closed where his movements had exposed the pale skin of his back.  Ben was tall - probably about his height, Hux guessed, though the way he’d needed to lean against him on the way out to the car made it difficult to know for sure - but where the thin fabric of the hospital gown had fallen open, Hux could count the knobs of his spine, the curve of his back as he wrapped around himself only serving to highlight them.  Hux may not have been a medical professional, but it didn’t take one to realize those were 25 pounds Ben sorely needed.

“And on the subject of getting you out of here,” the nurse began, interrupting the dark turn of Hux’ thoughts, “because I know you’re itching to - it looks like you don't currently carry any insurance, right?  You’re no longer eligible to be on your parents?”

She looked at Ben over the tops of her glasses, and Hux felt a deep well of guilt open up in his stomach as Ben averted his eyes and nodded again, ashamed.  Of course he didn’t have any insurance; finance had convinced Hux last year that everyone on his admin team should be kept just on the cusp of full-time, so his company wouldn’t be legally bound to provide it.  It would save him hundreds of thousands of dollars a year, they’d told him; to do so was the financially sound decision, and Hux hadn’t blinked as he’d agreed to it.  Now it was Ben who was paying the price.

“Then you’ll have to stop by the office on your way out and set up a payment plan,” she instructed.  “Jen down there will help you; she’s sweet.  Will it be your parents who are picking you up this time?”

At that, Ben finally looked up, the suddenness of the movement dislodging Hux’ hand, something like horror on his open features.  

“I-I... Uhm, no, t-they’re not - I’m, uhm, I-I’m staying-... I-I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. Just-... I’ll be fine….“

In the shadow of Ben’s panic, the pieces he’d been given of Ben’s life all slotted together, and Hux finally understood. No one called for Ben in all the hours they had been here; nor had Ben requested that he call anyone else.  What kind of a person could disappear for an entire evening without someone caring what had happened to them?  Hell, even Hux would have had Phasma looking for him after long enough of not returning her texts, and he was the most antisocial person he knew.

The picture it painted was grim - because no, Ben wasn’t going home to his parents.  They weren’t coming to get him.   _No one was,_ and later, Hux would remember the fierce protectiveness that had him stepping between Ben and the nurse, motioning for her to hand him the clipboard, as a bout of temporary insanity.

“He’ll be staying with me,” he said, his voice clipped, impatient, even as his mind refused to process the implications of what he had just done.  “Just give me the damn discharge papers; I’ll sign them myself.  The name is Ethan Hux.  Spelled like it sounds: E-T-H-A-N H-U-X.”

\---

And just when Ben thought nothing could make his day worse, the nice executive guy turned out to be the CEO of the company whose admin department he just trashed. _Shit_ . But wait just a minute...? Did… did he just say he was taking Ben _home_ with him? That made no sense at all! Why the fuck would he want to waste even more of his time on an actual, obvious nutcase? Someone who just turned an entire office upside down and nearly took his own fucking arm off in process? No, no, that really didn’t make _any_ sense. This had to be either one really weird hallucination, or there was some sort of catch to this, and Ben wasn’t looking forward to finding out which one it was.

“I-... S-sir,” he began, trying and failing to keep the panic and shame out of his voice. “S-sir, you really don’t… I-I’ll be fine. I c-can take care of myself, I promise. I don’t want to- to, uhm, be a bother. Please, sir. I’ll be fine.”

But he was being completely ignored by the nurse and Mr Hux, as they were busy filling out the paperwork ensuring his release as well as making sure his care was paid for. He fiddled with the hem of the blanket, shuddering a little - why was it so cold in there? - before obediently reaching his arm out from under the blanket so that the nurse could remove the IV from his hand. Giving him a gentle pat on the shoulder, the nurse straightened up and put his little bundle of clothes on the bed next to him, and then collected the now empty blood-bag and tubes that had been connected to him.

“Okay, Ben,” she said. “You can get dressed now - you’re free to go.”

With that she left the room, and the silence spread again. Ben threw a shy glance at Mr Hux, trying to think of some way to ask for some privacy while he changed. He knew his body wasn’t very pretty - even without the scars everywhere he was still too thin, and all weird angles and strange proportions. He looked like he consisted of badly put together spare parts, he knew that, and he didn’t want Mr Hux to have to see _that_ on top of everything else. It was bad enough as it was. Thankfully, the man seemed to understand his nervous glancing between him and the clothes, and motioned towards the door.

“I’m not sure how much you remember of our arrival here, but I’m afraid your shirt fared just about as well as your arm.  Unfortunately, the staff here doesn’t have quite so much experience in stitching that back together, and I won’t have you going outside in just your undershirt.  But you’re in luck: if there’s one thing I have an abundance of, it’s jackets.  I’ll go to the car and see if I can dig one up while you get dressed, okay?”

Ben nodded, and Mr Hux disappeared out the door. Half of Ben didn’t believe he’d actually come back, but the other half hoped he would - because by now all the shelters were full, and he didn’t look forward to the prospect of sleeping on the street in his pants and a tank top, which was all the clothing he had now. The only _possessions_ he had now; his bag was left behind at the office, and security didn’t take well to random bags and boxes left in the building. It had probably gone in the trash by now - some morbid part of Ben’s brain found that oddly fitting. A sorry collection of things, thrown in the trash and missed by no one - the perfect metaphor for the sad mess that was Ben’s life.

The car must’ve been waiting right outside, because Mr Hux came back within minutes, carrying a long woolen coat in a deep navy colour. He put it over Ben’s shoulders with a gentleness that both surprised and soothed, and with a reassuring smile he said:

“There, looks better on you than it ever did on me.  Now let’s get you home.  I’ll show you the view from my apartment; I promise it’s better than the one here.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lithium: Prescribed for Ben's bipolar disorder. Ben has been off of it for a while, and since this medication can be hard on the body, he will have to be reintroduced to it in slowly increasing dosages.  
> Zyprexa: An antipsychotic, also used to treat bipolar depressions and bipolar mania. An emergency medication that is typically not prescribed for long periods, this will make Ben very tired.  
> Atarax: A mild but effective antihistamine sedative, used only when needed.  
> Intermezzo: A very strong sleep medication, used to help Ben fall asleep, as well as stay asleep throughout the night.
> 
> This combination of medications is not uncommon for someone who, like Ben, has bipolar disorder and is suffering from a very severe bipolar depression. It will be adjusted once the state of his health has changed. 
> 
> Loke is familiar with array of medications because he has been on them. Any comments or questions regarding this or any other aspect of the past two chapters should be directed to us over at tumblr. As usual, we're ficlet-machine (Loke) and thegoodlannister (Cat).


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Though this chapter is relatively safe, Ben does wrestle with thoughts of self-hatred throughout.

The drive to Mr Hux’ apartment was a quiet one. Ben was trying to wrap his head around this day, but he wasn’t having much success with it. The anxiety was still there, crawling around under his skin, but the medication they’d given him at the hospital helped him keep it at bay. He was grateful for that, because he was so exhausted he could barely think. Having to fend off one single more panic attack or bout of clawing anxiety or self-hatred was more than he was capable of right now.

He still couldn’t believe Mr Hux - the living legend of a man, whom half the company weren’t sure even actually existed - had not only brought him to the hospital and stayed while he was receiving treatment, but actually paid the bill and decided to bring Ben home with him. Mr Hux was actually letting him _stay_ with him until he’d gotten through the worst, and Ben’s brain failed to even process it, because stuff like this didn’t fucking  _happen_ in real life! In a cheesy rom-com with the usual pretty lady and handsome guy, yeah! But not to Ben Solo, not in reality, not with another man, and most certainly not with a man like Ethan Hux! And yet here he was, in the backseat of the most expensive car he’d ever been in, with Mr Hux right next to him - a slender hand resting casually on his shoulder in a gesture of comfort. For now, he decided, he’d just have to roll with it. It was too much for his burned out mind to think about right now.

With every new block they passed, the buildings got more and more fancy; high-rises where Ben knew each square foot cost more than his parents’ entire house, all glass and steel and sleek designs, and it dawned on him that Mr Hux had said ‘apartment.'   _Holy shit_ , what if Mr Hux actually lived in one of these? Ben swallowed hard, desperately hoping the man didn’t keep a lot of fragile and expensive things around - because if Ben was going back on the Lithium again, he’d be in for absolute tremor _hell_. With the addition of the Zyprexa, and the constant sluggish tiredness from that, Ben would probably set all kinds of new records for clumsiness. Things would undoubtedly get broken, and Ben could only hope they were the things that could be replaced. He didn’t know what he’d do with himself if he broke something that had actual sentimental value.

The car turned a corner, and then another one as it headed down into an underground garage underneath one of the giant buildings. Ben had never in his life seen so many expensive cars in one place before; there were Lamborghinis, Ferraris, Mustangs, Mercedes after Mercedes, Lexuses, three Aston Martins in a neat row, more Porsches than he could count, and several other brands as well that he didn’t immediately recognize from the magazines Han had showed him when he was younger - hoping to get Ben to “be a normal boy”, and develop an interest in cars instead of painting. Ben liked Mustangs - especially the newer models - but that was about as far as his interest had gotten.

The driver backed into an empty parking spot at the end of a row, right next to an almost identical car as the one they were in - the main difference seemed to be that the other one was a light grey metallic instead of black - and got out to open the door on Mr Hux’ side. As Mr Hux carefully helped Ben exit from that same side, he could see why. On that side, a few feet further up, were a pair of elevators, and Ben was thankful he wouldn’t have to walk much more today. His legs felt all weak and wobbly, and when he made to follow Mr Hux - who had thanked the driver, saying something about a bonus, and then simply gesturing for Ben to come along - he stumbled, nearly falling to his knees. Face burning from embarrassment, he allowed himself to be supported again, and they made it to the elevators.

“It’s won’t be long now, I promise,” Mr Hux said as the doors closed, reaching over and typing a series of numbers on a small panel. “We’ll have you sitting down soon enough.”

Ben nodded, trying not to think too much about how Mr Hux was still holding on to him, even though there were the usual little support railings inside the elevator. He could have just let Ben hold on to those, but instead, he kept a steady grip around Ben’s middle with one arm, and the other held onto Ben’s left arm which was slung around his shoulder. It was a much nicer gesture than Ben felt he deserved at that point, but he wasn’t going to complain. The last thing he wanted was to come off as ungrateful when this man had spent the better part of his Friday afternoon and evening in the E.R. because of Ben. The elevator itself, though very minimalistic in design, clearly communicated wealth and class, and Ben briefly wondered what sort of people actually lived in buildings like this. Well, apart from Mr Hux, that was.

The elevator ride seemed to go on forever, and when they finally arrived at the right floor Ben was shocked to realize that there was only one door in the little entrance hall they’d stepped out into. A penthouse. Mr Hux lived in a _penthouse_ \- this entire floor was his. _Of course it was_ , Ben thought. Given his standing and everything, why would he settle for anything less than that? He was so exhausted now that he could barely keep upright even with the support, and so after Hux typed in another code to open the door and get them both inside, there was little Ben could do but allow himself to be lead through a hallway, that seemed to stretch on endlessly in both directions, into what was the most massive space he’d ever been in that wasn’t a church or an arena. The first thing he saw, before Hux turned him around and helped him sit down on the couch, was an actual grand piano standing in all its majesty in the corner to the far left from where they’d come in. Its black surface had been polished so that it nearly shone from how well it reflected the light. Looking around him, he could barely comprehend what he was actually seeing - the sheer luxury and elegance surrounding him made him feel very small and out of place.

Three whole walls consisted of floor to ceiling windows - New York glittering like an entire galaxy outside - and the living room itself looked like something out of one of those interior design magazines Leia always read. It was so perfect, Ben hardly dared to move, out of fear he’d ruin something. Everything was white, for starters; the low side-tables and shelves, the huge urn-like flowerpots, the thick rugs covering the floor, the armchairs scattered about, the walls… _everything_ . The only splashes of colour were the plants themselves - large, lush, and green things that Ben couldn’t recognize, and little groups of orchids here and there - some decorative knickknacks in little bowls and vases on a few of the tables, and the felt on the massive pool table and poker table taking up the far right corner of the room. Ben could hardly believe it; the man actually had a _grand piano,_ and a pool table that looked like it belonged in a castle somewhere in Britain, in the same room - and still there was enough room to fit five more of each without even beginning to feel like it was getting a little bit cramped. Right in front of where he was sitting, on the only available wall, a flat screen TV the size of Han and Leia’s dinner table was mounted - the sheer size of it was intimidating, even from ten feet back, where Ben was sitting. Looking down, Ben realized that the couch, too, was the same pristine white as everything else, and _Ben was sitting on it in his dirty, bloodstained clothes_. An apology began working itself towards his mouth, but Mr Hux didn’t seem to have noticed his predicament. Once he had helped Ben sit down, carefully arranging the cushions to support his injured arm, not seeming to pay much attention to Ben’s wide-eyed staring at the room, or his current attempt to formulate words, he straightened up and offered another one of those remarkably soft smiles.

“There,” he said, before Ben could start apologizing. “I’ll wager that feels a bit better, doesn’t it?  It should take a little of the pressure off, at least.” Clamping his mouth shut, Ben nodded. Mr Hux looked relieved, running a hand through his hair. “See, things are looking up already.  I don’t know about you, but I’d kill for some tea after the day we’ve head.  How about I go make us some?  I’m may not be much use in the kitchen, but I’d be doing my entire country a disservice if I couldn’t manage a proper cup of tea.”

Ben nodded again, and watched as Hux hurried off - completely dumbstruck as to how he could have missed the enormous dining room table that stood by the windows where the living room area met the kitchen area - it looked like it could easily fit a dozen people, if not more. Ben couldn’t see much from where he was sitting, but it seemed like the kitchen was every bit as huge as the rest of the place. He was thankful for the medication, because if his brain hadn’t been so fuzzy and disconnected from his emotions right now, he was fairly sure he’d have another meltdown right then and there from how overwhelmed he was. Even through the fog of medication, he could feel the anxiety crawling closer to the surface - the effect must be starting to lessen a bit - and he curled a bit on himself, trying to focus on breathing to calm himself.

Just as he was starting to find enough focus to do his breathing exercises, a little chirping noise from the direction of the floor, and the feeling of something touching his leg startled him out of it. The source of the chirping noise turned out to be a cat, Ben learned, as it jumped into his lap in that entitled way only cats managed, before putting its front paws on his chest and thoroughly sniffing his face and hair, then curling up on his lap and closing its eyes - purring like a V12 engine. It had a beautiful coat, somewhere between short and long hair, bright orange, and smooth as silk under his hand as he cautiously stroked it across its side. Its eyes were the most green eyes he’d ever seen on a living creature, and though its face had an almost delicate look to it, the rest of the cat was decidedly _not_ very delicate. It was quite fat, actually, but in that way most older cats seemed to be, rather than as the result of overeating. It apparently enjoyed the attention, as it stretched out across his lap in the most blatantly indulgent way, baring its soft belly - quite obviously expecting belly-rubs. The fur on its stomach was almost white, and very, very soft. Ben could feel the vibrations of the purring in his hand as he continued to stroke it, prepared to remove his hand at the slightest sign of teeth or claws. It was enough with one hand all wrapped up, he’d rather not lose the use of both of them.

\---

From the kitchen, Hux could just make out the sound of Millicent’s purrs - loud enough that they echoed even in the expanse of his apartment - and he wiped his hands on a dishtowel, stepping to the edge of the counter, so he could peek into the living area to investigate.  The sight he was met with stopped him cold, causing him to cock his head as he took it in.  Millicent was draped over Ben’s lap, spread out flat on her back, feet kicked into the air, and Ben was… he was... _scratching at her belly._ He could hardly believe what he was seeing; Millicent didn’t even enjoy such treatment from _him,_ and the few times he’d allowed Phasma into his apartment, she’d scattered immediately, hiding in one of the innumerous rooms Hux rarely used until she’d safely shut the door behind her.

If this was anyone else, Hux was sure, Millicent would have taken a hand off by now, but instead, she nuzzled into the touch, while Ben more than obliged her mewling.  Hux didn’t blame him; for all her prissiness, she was Hux’ princess, and she’d earned more than few pinches of fish underneath the table with sounds like that.

Millicent had been Hux’ constant companion for more than ten years now.  He’d picked her out shortly after he received his MBA; she had been the first choice he’d made for himself, without his father’s input, before even he had settled on his apartment.  His father had never had time for pets, and she was the first one Hux had owned.  It had been a learning experience for the both of them, but thankfully Millicent was 100% cat - self-sufficient in every way and, by now, accustomed to the long hours Hux spent at the office.  She wasn’t the type to rush to Hux’ side the moment he walked in the door, even if he’d been at the office for 16 hours straight; she’d get to him in her own good time - usually when she desired something more than the no-grain-meal dry cat food Hux had selected for her.

Without realizing it, Hux planted his elbows on the counter and stepped back to lean his weight onto them, resting his chin in the palm of his hand so he could scratch at his beard as he studied the way Millicent butted her head into Ben’s middle, demanding more of the boy’s attention.  There was something mesmerizing about the sight, something that sent up a little flutter inside his ribcage; it wasn’t a sensation he had ever felt before, and for all he knew, it may have been the first sign that whatever heart condition afflicted his father was setting in for him too, but everything seemed dreamy in a way that made it difficult for him to truly mind, even if it was.

While Hux valued the solitude of his life, he’d wondered, more than once - usually after hitting the brandy a little harder than was wise - what it might be like to share his home with someone.  What it might be like to look on from his kitchen, from this spot exactly, and see another person settled in his living area, while he tinkered with something or other.  And in this moment, turning the knob that adjusted the volume of Beethoven’s _Symphony No. 5_ as it flowed through the speakers inside the walls, it was disconcertingly easy to imagine that the situation was different.  That Ben was someone who wanted to be with Hux, who had come home with him after a night at Hux’ favorite restaurant - except now it was _their_ favorite restaurant.  That this is how it was every night, Ben relaxing on the sofa while Hux made the two of them tea.  

That Hux knew how Ben took his tea, knew it like the back of his hand without having to ask.

Hux shook his head; the thoughts, while not exactly melancholy, weren’t going to do anything to help Ben in the situation they really _were_ in.  He could entertain fantasies at another time, when he didn’t have a boy who’d nearly collapsed from bloodloss on the way up to his apartment waiting for Hux to care for him.  Which Hux had promised to do.

It hadn’t been the most well thought-out of his decisions, Hux considered, trying to bite back the little half smile that wouldn’t leave his face as Millicent pawed playfully at Ben’s hand, her foot tiny in his grasp.  He didn’t know the first thing about caring for someone, especially someone who needed the kind of help that Ben did.  Ben wasn’t like Millicent, and it was too late to turn him onto the street now - not that he wanted to.  

Behind him, the New York skyline stretched out endless and inviting.  He’d always loved this city; while he hadn’t been born here, most of his earliest memories were of New York.  Even before his father had made the move after his mother’s death, Hux could remember flights between their home in the UK and New York near monthly, while his father had established his business here.  This was the place where he had come into his own, and he would never leave it, not for more than a few days or a week - whatever his work required of him.  But here, inside his apartment, was a boy whose name Hux hadn’t known until only a few hours before.  Was New York his home too, the backdrop to his childhood?  Had he been born here?  Who were his parents - the ones who weren’t coming to pick him up?  How long had he been working at Imperial Marketing?  Did he have dreams like Hux had, when he’d started his first marketing gig, younger even than Ben?

For once, these questions held as much interest for him as whatever was happening out there, the evening settling over the city, and Hux turned away from the scene, allowing Ben his privacy.  The boy probably needed it after the day he’d had - Hux had already seen him stripped to his underwear and wrestled, half-aware, into a hospital gown, and Hux’ own fiercely private nature had flinched at the treatment.  Whether Ben’s need for privacy was as intense as his own, Hux couldn’t imagine a person who wouldn’t have been at least mildly embarrassed at the way he’d been seen - if he could remember it, that was. For Ben’s sake, Hux hoped he couldn’t.

His teapot, pale blue and made of hand-crafted ceramic with an ornate brass handle, sat atop a stainless steel stovetop range, ready for use.  Teamaking was the only use this stovetop ever saw, so he never had any need to move it, and Hux removed the lid to fill it with water from the filter before fiddling with the setting on the range.  He kept a wide array of teas - teas he should drink more often, rather than always turning to the brandy, or the wine, he knew - and he wondered which would do Ben the most good.  The doctors had said the antibiotics - of which he still hadn’t given Ben the first dose - might upset his stomach, and he knew mint tea was supposed to be good for that.  Then again, they’d also given him various medications to help him sleep - _sedatives,_ they’d said, and the word had sounded harsh, not like something that would lull him into rest, but like something that might knock him out at the drop of a hat.  Perhaps Ben would do better with chamomile, something to help calm his nerves?

...which may have been the stupidest thought he’d ever entertained, Hux realized, as soon as he’d had it.  If tea was enough to calm Ben’s nerves, they wouldn’t have been in this situation, with Ben’s arm stitched to hell and back and his admin department left in shambles.

Speaking of which… Hux distantly wondered if anyone had come to clean up the wreckage yet.  If the janitors had stumbled upon it without warning - if they’d cleaned around it or done what they could to put the office back together.  He was almost afraid to look at his phone and find out, as the teapot began making pleasant little hissing noises that told him the water inside was warming.  It had been hours since last he’d checked his messages, and he was sure, by now, that when he placed his finger on the home screen button, his notifications would roll right off the screen, there’d be so many.

“Mmmm, Ben?” he called into the living area, deciding to ignore it for now.  Anyone who thought he was dead had already made that assumption, and a few more minutes wouldn’t make it any worse.  It was the weekend, and no one aside from janitors would step foot into Imperial Marketing until Monday; he had time.  “What kind of tea would you like?  I have… ummm…”  He rummaged around in the tin he’d pulled down from his Restoration Hardware cabinets, the dark grain wood the only finish he would see in his kitchen.  “I have chamomile, if you like herbal blends.  Green, of course.  There’s some sort of… white Japanese blossom thing in here too.  Nothing someone from the UK would ever be caught dead drinking, but you might like it…”

Ben mumbled something that might have been an unsure “What are you having?” but trailed off when the teakettle let out a whistle, and Hux used the dishtowel to remove it from the range, setting it next to the sink while he pulled two teacups down from the cabinet to his left.  

“I’m having Earl Grey,” he responded, hoping that was what Ben had actually asked.  “It’s my favorite, but I can’t imagine caffeine would be a good idea for you right now, even if it’s not explicitly against the rules.  I think you were supposed to take the first of your antibiotics just as soon as we got you settled.” He chuckled self-deprecatingly, screwing up his face, even though there was no one there to see.  Leave it up to him to have Ben’s arm fall off from infection after he’d only had him for less than an hour.  

“Well, I’ve already screwed that up, haven’t I?  So I guess there’s no harm if the Earl Grey is what you want.  But I’ve also got this mint tea that I think is supposed to be caffeine free?”  By now he had filled the two mugs with steaming water, and he jostled them in his arms, trying not to spill as he wedged the tin under one arm.  “Oh damn it all, I’m just bringing them all in and you can decide what you want, okay?”

Ben was still sitting where he’d left him as Hux made his way into the living area, Millicent lounging his his lap, looking for all the world as if she belonged there.  He  hadn’t removed his shoes, and he was holding his arm gingerly, the elbow of it just resting on the cushions Hux had arranged, as if it was paining him, which Hux was sure it was, though Ben hadn’t offered a word of complaint since the one utterance of _“it hurts”_ when the nurses had been stitching him up.  No wonder he hadn’t removed his shoes then; he probably wouldn’t have been able to manage it on his own, and Hux suspected Ben would have considered asking for help complaining.

Which Ben was due at least a little bit of, in Hux’ opinion.  The nurse who’d discharged him hadn’t mentioned anything about pain medications, which Hux guessed had something to do with bag of pills currently sitting on his counter.  Perhaps they’d interact badly, he wasn’t sure, and when Ben looked up at him, eyes bleary and red, the bruising near temple really vibrant now, and swelling a little, looking sore to the touch, his stomach twinged with the ache to do _something._

“Perhaps you’d like some lemon?” he asked, using the toe of his shoe to shove a glass-topped coffee table closer to the sofa, before arranging the mugs atop it.  A little voice he did his best to ignore noted that this was the first time this sofa had ever been used, questioned whether he should really be serving tea on it - especially to a boy who had single-handedly managed to take out an entire division of his firm. Of course Ben hadn’t meant to, but if he was capable of that, how would his custom-upholstered sofa fare under the onslaught?  He’d purchased it for show, because he liked the look of it.  Had never even tried the thing out, because it had never been meant for sitting on.  

Hux typically ate standing over the granite of his kitchen counter, then moved directly to the bedroom, abandoning the notion of sitting on any of his furniture in favor of reclining on his king-size bed.  He’d rather that than risk the pristine white he’d chosen for the upholstery throughout his apartment.

“L-lemon? Yes, please,” Ben said, interrupting Hux’ uncharitable thoughts, and Hux groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead.

Dammit.  He didn’t have lemon.  He didn’t have anything, other than this tea and a fully stocked wine rack and whatever was in the back of his refrigerator - which, last he could recall, consisted of a carton of almond milk that he was pretty certain had been expired the last time he looked at it and a bottle of imported balsamic vinegar Phasma had given him as a gift.  Ben had to eat with his medications, the nurse had told him so, and somehow he doubted the Thai he usually ordered on Friday nights, when he had no engagements to keep him out of his apartment, would settle well with the medications Ben was being required to take.  He’d brought the boy home to an apartment with no food - how could he be so _stupid?_

“Ummm… well,” Hux stammered, sitting down on the coffee table across from Ben, next to the mugs of hot water, and clasping his hands in front of him to keep them from prodding at the sore-looking spot on the boy’s face.  “I, uh, I’m actually fresh out of lemon right now.  As well as anything else we might be able to eat.  I’m at the office so much, I’m afraid there’s not much time for cooking.  Everything just tends to go bad, you see…”  He was rambling, and he knew it, so he let the sentence trail off as he hurriedly dug into his pocket for his phone, nearly dropping it in the process.  

“N-no, it’s fine, don’t worry. Nurses always say you gotta eat more. It’s, uhm, like part of their job description or something, but I-I’m not really that hungry at all, I’ll be fine.”

Ben was protesting before he’d even finished speaking, but even now, Hux couldn’t forget the way the knobs of Ben’s spine had poked out from beneath his skin in the glimpses Hux had gotten under his hospital gown, and that alone was enough to convince him it was time to bite the bullet and call in reinforcements.  Because there was no way he was leaving Ben here alone while he went out to forage for something to eat, and he knew of only one person he could count on to help him in this situation.

When Hux flipped his phone over in his hand, he could only bring himself to look at it with one eye open.  He’d been right; over the course of the evening, he’d missed three phone calls and approximately 18 text messages - four of them from Phasma, inquiring after his whereabouts and whether he wanted to go out for a post-work week martini, and he swiped to open the last of them.

**I need a favor.  You know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to.** He sent the message without preamble, choosing not to address the invitation, then smiled across at Ben, hoping he didn’t look like a man who was currently overwhelmed by even looking at his phone.  

**I’m going to need you to bring over the kind of food sick people eat.** He considered the message briefly, then went back to typing.  His COO was going to need directions more explicit than that; the woman had an iron stomach.  He wouldn’t put it past her to show up with a carton of curry. **Something easy on the stomach.  Take-out’s fine, but make sure it’s soup or something bland like that.  I know you always want to do that Indian place on 42nd, but don’t.  It’s spicy as hell.**

Then, thinking of the bag of medications still sitting on his counter, which he hadn’t yet dared to open, he added: **And pick up one of those medication dispensers - the ones that have the different compartments for organizing pills by times of day.** He waited only a moment before tacking on: **Make sure it’s one that looks like it holds a lot of them.  Thanks, I owe you.  :)**

Hey, he figured, it was a big bag.  Best to be prepared.

When he had finished, Hux set his phone next to him on the coffee table and reached for the tin of tea, placing it on his lap so it was in reach of Ben’s good hand.

“Okay, remember the friend I told you about?  The one who teases me for working late all the time? She’s on her way over, and she’s bringing food. Until then, I can offer tea - sans lemon - and maybe some ice for that bump on your head. What do you think?”

“Y-yeah, that’s fine,” Ben stammered. “I-I’m so sorry - I know I’m inconveniencing you. P-please don’t feel like- like you have to do this. I’ll be fine on my own, I- I promise. The people at the E.R always make it look worse than it is. I’m fine. Really.”

\---

It was, of course, a blatant lie - and Ben was pretty sure Mr Hux could see right through it - but he had to say it. His mind refused to leave him alone until he had. It refused to leave him alone either way, but at least now he’d said it, and thereby given Mr Hux another chance to back out of this - to walk away from the pathetic creature that was Ben Solo. While he wished - _desperately_ \- for this to be real, for this to be that fairy tale rescue, Ben knew better. He had had over two decades worth of time to learn that no matter what they say, no matter how many beautiful promises they make… sooner or later everyone leaves Ben Solo. Sooner or later, he ends up alone. It was just how it was. He wasn’t worth the time or the energy, only ruined everything time after time, and he never fucking _learned_ \- but still he hoped, and so far absolutely _nothing_ good had come out of that. He couldn’t afford to hope anymore.

But he also couldn’t make himself get up and leave, like he should. He liked it here - liked it more than he knew what to do with. Sure, the place looked more like one of those model rooms you’d find in an Ikea - perfect, but not lived in - but it felt… _safe_ , in a way Ben hadn’t really felt since his granny was still alive and he got to go visit her in her little apartment that was full of his grandfather’s art and her books. The cat, whose name he still didn’t know, helped a lot too. He may not be very good with people, but animals had always liked him - and he liked them too; preferred them over people any day.

A part of his mind - that treacherous one that always whispered about his parents being the villains, not him - took note of the fact that he’d received more care and compassion over these last few hours, from a complete stranger, than he had in a decade from his parents. That same little voice reminded him that neither Han nor Leia ever sat in the room with him when he was being treated - they hadn’t since he became a teenager - and that maybe Mr Hux was the one who did the actual right thing in that situation. Mr Hux, his boss, had offered him comfort - had stroked his hair and tried to joke to lighten the mood - instead of just dropping him off or waiting outside. Ben tried to shut the voice up. Those were some very dangerous thoughts, and he couldn’t help but tense up, expecting a verbal - or, for that matter, a physical - beat down just for thinking them. The guilt only added to the nausea he was feeling, and he began to gather courage to ask for the mint tea instead of the Earl Grey. He’d never been a fan of it, but it was so hard to make himself say it. He really didn’t want to come off as impolite or ungrateful! But, perhaps the nausea could help him there; it was a good excuse for wanting something less… bitter. He could only stomach Earl Grey if it had been mixed out with plenty of milk and some lemon or sugar - but he didn’t know how to communicate that to Mr Hux, especially not when he’d just admitted to not having stuff at home to put in it.

Mr Hux looked at him, and Ben curled a bit on himself, afraid that his apology had annoyed the man. It was the last thing he wanted - but therefore, given his usual luck, probably exactly what he’d done.

“Ben,” Mr Hux said, his voice gentle, as he leaned forward and studied Ben intently. “I promise, were you inconveniencing me, you’d know.  Ask Phasma when she gets here; she’ll tell you, I don’t have much patience for disruptions.  If I say I want to help you, I want to help you.  If I make you tea, it’s because _I want to make you tea._ And if I tell you that I know when you’re bluffing, it’s because I was in the room when you were treated and we _both_ know it’s exactly as bad as it looks underneath those bandages.” He smiled, then got to his feet.  “Now, I’ll tell you what I tell all my clients: it’ll be easier if you let me do the hard work.  I’ll just grab some ice, then I’ll help you make your tea, easy as that.  Have you decided which one you want?”

“Uhm, I think I’d- I’d like the mint, if that’s okay?

“See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

While Mr Hux disappeared off to the kitchen again, Ben tried looking around for a clock. He had no idea what time it was - all he knew was that it was dark outside, but that didn’t really help. If it was too late, then there was no use in taking the Lithium tonight - keeping those twelve hour intervals was a real hassle, but he’d learned the hard way that taking two doses too close to each other wasn’t a very pleasant experience. And no matter what time it was, he knew that once he’d taken the Zyprexa, it wouldn’t take more than two hours, top most, before he was too tired and drowsy to even stand up straight. As exhausted as he was, it probably wasn’t even worth wasting an Intermezzo - he’d probably black out as soon as he was horisontal. The antibiotics worried him a bit, he’d done a few rounds of them before, and he knew they usually left him completely knocked out - nauseous, fatigued, his entire body feeling completely… off. It was bad enough that he’d be feeling like that due to the other medications - he didn’t exactly need the extra help from the antibiotics.

Then it dawned on him - really dawned - that he didn’t have any other clothes. What was he going to sleep in? He couldn’t very well go lie down somewhere in what he was wearing now could he? He was soaked in blood, and though it had dried by now, it might still rub off on sheets and such and stain them beyond salvation. But how was he even supposed to go about addressing that problem? It looked like they might be the same size, sure, but Ben didn’t know. He was so bad at stuff like that - it was always Leia who picked everything out; Ben only did what he was told, and wore whatever clothes she found suitable. He had no idea what size he was in anything, and even if he did, asking Mr Hux for clothes was so far beyond what his anxiety ridden mind could handle. He also started to wonder where he was supposed to sleep. There seemed to be a lot of rooms in the penthouse, but Ben hadn’t exactly gotten a closer look, and he wasn’t going to make himself appear ungrateful by demanding a room. Sighing deeply, he decided to wait and hope Mr Hux would raise the question for him. It was always easier to just answer things, or to do what he was told - then at least no one would be yelling at him.

\---

When Hux returned from the kitchen, ice wrapped in a dish cloth, Ben hadn’t moved a muscle  The tea was steeping, and the smell of bergamot mingled with mint made his mouth water - it hadn’t occurred to him until now that the last time he had anything to eat was at lunch, when he’d managed only a few bites of his salad, thoughts of the interview, which now seemed as if it had happened days ago, occupying his mind.  Funny how that had seemed to matter so much at the time.  Millicent was still rumbling happily in Ben’s lap, and this time, Hux settled down next to the two of them.

“It looks like Millie likes you,” he said, reaching out a finger to smooth down the white fur along her ribcage, ruffled from Ben’s petting, and the orange tabby took a swipe at the offending appendage before hopping down from Ben’s lap and tearing off into the master bedroom.  Hux would be lucky if he saw her again for the rest of the night.

“Ungrateful beast,” he muttered, but he was chuckling to himself, used to the fickleness of her moods.

“Mille?” Ben sounded equal parts curious and already just as fond of her as Hux was, seemingly unaffected by her hasty departure.

“Yes, Millie.  Well, Millicent, actually,” Hux clarified.  “She’s _my_ cat, believe it or not, though she acts like she can’t stand me half the time, but I suppose that’s for the best.  I hardly have the time to devote to her that I should; she’s an extremely self-sufficient little girl, thank god.  She’d never have made it this far if she wasn’t.”

Ben was still looking off in the direction Millie had disappeared to, and Hux took the opportunity to place a hand along his cheek, turning his head so he could inspect the bruising that had already spread up his temple.  He let his fingers brush where the purple was most vibrant, barely touching, the skin warm beneath his fingers where blood pulsed just underneath the surface, and Hux found himself hoping Phasma would hurry up and arrive already.  Were people’s faces supposed to be this hot, he wondered.  Wasn’t that an indication of illness?  Perhaps he’d waited too long in getting the antibiotics into Ben and he was already running a fever.  Then again, contusions were often warm to the touch, weren’t they?

Maybe he’d simply gone too long without human contact and Ben was at perfectly normal body temperature.  (And he refused to consider what it said about the state of his personal life that this was a very real possibility.)

“Millicent?” Ben repeated, testing the word in his mouth, and Hux nodded.

“It means industrious,” Hux said, bringing the ice up to press it gently against Ben’s temple.  When Ben hissed at the contact, flinching away though the cloth had only skimmed the surface of the bruise, Hux shushed him.  “I didn’t choose it for any particular reason - she’s not the type to go out catching mice, not even when she was younger, but something about it just suited her, you know?”  He knew the ice, though it would be comforting once Ben adjusted to it, couldn’t feel good against his overheated skin, and he kept talking in an effort to keep Ben’s mind off of it.  “You’re lucky you don’t have a concussion; this is some truly spectacular swelling.  Only a few inches to the left and your eye would have been swollen clean shut.”

Which really would have been a pity, Hux thought, as he studied them under the guise of inspecting Ben’s injury.  His face was only inches from Ben’s, and when Hux found that he was staring, trying to make sense of the mismatched features, he did nothing to stop it.  Not a one of them of went together, and yet… earlier, he had thought they might have been remarkable under different circumstances.  Now, here in the muted lighting of his apartment, there was no denying it.  While there was nothing about Ben that Hux would have called attractive, at least not in the traditional sense, nothing that spoke of the type of man Hux usually found himself drawn to, there was something… captivating in his face.  Something soft and sharp all at once, there in the hollows next to his nose, and Hux wasn’t certain he could have looked away had he tried.  

“Y-yeah, I guess was just born lucky,” Ben said, and there it was again, that unexpected humor, delivered with such dry wit that Hux’ face split wide open in a grin, his cheeks strangely warm and tingling, even as Ben finally relaxed into the coldness of the ice, letting out a little sigh that gave Hux the barest glimpse of a crooked bottom row of teeth.  

“Yes, I can see that much,” Hux snorted, allowing himself to settle into the gaze he shared with Ben and rubbing his thumb over a beauty mark on his cheekbone, just beyond the edge of the bruising.  It was far from the only mark on Ben’s face; there was another, bigger mole under his eye, as well as number of smaller dots extending down onto his neck, and Hux’ mind wandered, cataloguing them, as the track switched to Beethoven’s _Symphony No. 9_ in the background, the music soft but swelling.  

He was truly exhausted, the events of the day finally catching up with him - and while he’d never tested the sofa’s cushions, he had to hand it to his interior decorator, he really should have sat on the thing before this, because he sunk into it like it had been made for him.  (Which he supposed it had.)  The heating in the apartment was set just right, as it always was, lethargy setting in as it burned away the autumn chill, and unthinking, Hux brought his foot up, shoe still on, to tuck it underneath of his knee so that he was sitting on it.  While he had heard of getting lost in someone’s eyes before, he’d never considered it possible until now.

He could happily have contemplated Ben’s face for the rest of the night, he thought, and perhaps he really had been alone too long, if he was truly entertaining such maudlin notions.  

Whether the ice was doing anything to help the swelling, it at least seemed to feel good, so Hux brought Ben’s good hand up to hold it against his face, removing his own before the situation got any more dangerous than it already was.  Everything about this felt too _easy -_ and Hux could hardly afford to allow himself to get used to the feel of Ben’s warmth under his fingers, because he knew he’d only end up wanting more of it.  He shook his his head; god knew where that would get them.

“Good, now hold it there, just like that,” Hux instructed, reaching across to the coffee table to retrieve Ben’s tea for him.  “Keep it on as long as you can stand it.”  When a drip of water made its way down Ben’s cheek, the ice already starting to melt from where it was wrapped inside the dishcloth, Hux wiped it away.

“Don’t wait for it to go too warm before letting me know.”  He said, wiping his fingers on the leg of his pants, as much to erase the feel of Ben’s skin as to dry them.  “The point isn’t for it to melt all over your face, and I’ve got more where that came from.”

\---

As Mr Hux removed his hand from Ben’s face, Ben found himself biting back a whimper at the loss. _Loss_? Yes, that’s what it felt like, he realized. The thumb stroking over his skin had been smooth, warm - and he felt a sharp stab of pain inside at the realization that this was probably the first friendly touch he’d felt in… _years_. He didn’t count the hurried groping and sloppy kisses in the back rooms of _Eden_ or any of the other clubs he visited - those encounters were never about affection or tenderness, they were about getting off with the help of another person instead of one’s own hand. Glorified masturbation under a very thin veil of mutually pretended interest. As he gathered courage to look at Mr Hux, he found himself absolutely lost. The man’s eyes were a pale green colour - somewhere between a light jade and spring green, his brain decided to offer - sharp against his pale and slightly freckled skin, and although they were certainly very piercing, he didn’t feel uncomfortable under that gaze. There was a softness to them, a spark of... _something_ that Ben really couldn’t make out with his brain being as fuzzy as it currently was. Mr Hux was way too attractive for Ben’s tired mind to handle, yet he still found himself wanting to be looked at like this forever - and to be allowed _to look_ _at_ Mr Hux like this forever - and the realization startled him, quickly followed by shame. He was hopeless, wasn’t he? How pathetic. Someone showed him some basic human kindness, and Ben’s brain just had to go looking for things that weren’t there - that would most likely never be there. He should know better by now!

Maybe he was just overwhelmed, he tried to reason with himself. Maybe he just needed to sleep for a while, to let his brain get its shit together, and then it would stop doing this. The last thing he needed now was to develop some sort of damsel-in-distress crush on the man who was so much higher up on the social and corporate ladder than Ben would ever be, and who was probably straight anyway. Nothing good would ever come of that. Nothing good ever came out of Ben crushing on someone - he’d learned that lesson the hard way, and more than once.

The ice felt like a blessing against his skin - the swelling was becoming really uncomfortable, and he didn’t need a mirror to know he probably looked like absolute crap. It was still a mystery exactly what he’d done to earn himself that bruise, but he was - unfortunately - rather used to coming back into himself with all kinds of weird and/or unexplainable injuries. For all he knew he might have just punched himself. At least it wouldn’t surprise him much.

He was faced with a problem, though, due to the fact that he only had one functioning arm at the moment, and that one was busy holding the ice pack against his cheek. He was starting to really want that tea, the fresh mint in the air was doing good things to soothe that queasiness he’d been battling for the last half an hour or so, but he couldn’t both drink tea and keep the ice on the swelling. If he put it down, it would either get the pristine surface of the couch wet, or the obviously highly expensive coffee-table - and he was stuck trying to figure out which one would be the least rude. Maybe it would be better to put it down on the table - at least glass should be easier to clean, in case there was still some blood on his face or something. He realized to his own horror that he didn’t even know if there was. He could see the rusty, brownish red in the fabric of his clothes - the slacks were beyond salvation, that much was clear - but he had no idea if he had just walked out of a hospital with his face covered in blood. Asking Mr Hux about it now, after they’d been at his apartment for ages already just felt stupid. Maybe Mr Hux had been staring in some sort of horrified fascination? Maybe it wasn’t softness so much as pity. Yeah, that sounded more likely. No one would ever look at Ben in any other way. He’d better just try to be on his best behaviour during his time here, and try to be as little of a bother as he could until he was well enough to leave, or until Mr Hux no longer wanted him around - whichever came first.

\---

Ben’s eyes flickered between Hux’ face and the coffee table, looking a little bewildered, like he wanted to ask to ask for something but wasn’t sure how to go about it, and it took Hux a moment to realize what the problem was.  One of Ben’s hands was currently splinted and stitched back together, propped immobile on one of his sofa’s previously decorative pillows.  The other was holding a rapidly melting handful of ice to his face.  And Hux had just offered him tea.  Perfect.  Stellar.  Really top-notch thinking, there.

Hux groaned.  Who knew how long Ben had been sitting there, wanting a sip of his tea but unable to reach it while Hux had stared at him stupidly?  First he’d nearly starved the boy, and now he was well on the road to letting him die of thirst too.  And that was only in the first day.  Perhaps bleeding to death would have been the easier way to go.  Yes, there was no question he had to get this budding… whatever it was under control, and quickly.  He’d promised to take of Ben, not moon over him like some lovesick schoolboy - that wouldn’t do him any favors.  What Ben needed was a friend, and if Hux was truly bereft enough that a pair of doe-eyes was enough to make render him dumbstruck, then he wouldn’t be able to offer him even that.  

“The tea.  Dammit.”  He cursed as he fetched the tea from the coffee table, the mug pleasantly warm in his hands, and looked at Ben’s arm meaningfully, where the fingers that poked out from the splints had swollen to match his face, wincing when he spoke again.  “I’m sorry, Ben - I’m afraid I’m not very good at this, am I?  Just give me a few days to get the swing of things and I promise I’ll be far more efficient.”

“No-no.  It’s fine,” Ben argued, which was something Hux was already tired of hearing from him.  Because nothing about this was _fine,_ no matter what the boy said.  “It’s okay, you really don’t have to - “

He made to raise his arm from the pillow - why, Hux couldn’t fathom, because with his fingers splinted like they were, he wouldn’t have been able to do anything with them anyway - and immediately sucked a sharp, stuttering breath in between his teeth, the hand that held the ice to his face clenching and unclenching, unconsciously, while his eyes went round and white with pain, though he otherwise didn’t make a noise to indicate that what he had just done was a mistake.

“Stop!” Hux nearly shouted, desperate to keep Ben from trying that again.  “Don’t move.  Here, let me just - ” and with that Hux balanced Ben’s tea between his knees.  “Let me just take this from you and then you can drink your tea, okay?  It should be cool enough by now, and it’s not going to kill you to go a few minutes without the ice.  The swelling’s already gone down a little, I think.”

There was no way for Hux to know if that was true, as the injury was currently obscured by the ice, but he hoped it was, as he leaned forward to move Ben’s hand away from his face.  His fingers were stiff and frozen under Hux’s, and Ben held the ice so tightly that Hux had to almost pry it out his grasp before depositing it on the coffee table.  The skin of his cheek and temple was red with cold where the ice had sat, but when Hux prodded the area gently with his fingertips, the bruise still felt warm beneath artificial chill.  They’d have to apply the ice again as soon as Ben had finished his tea, he thought, and he pressed the mug into Ben’s hands, wrapping his fingers around Ben’s just long enough to make sure he was steady enough not to spill on himself.

...then just a little bit longer, to encourage them to shake off the chill from the ice.  And then a moment longer than that, just because his fingers were already there and Ben hadn’t protested and it felt damn nice, okay?

The moment had perhaps went on a little too long when he heard the door click somewhere behind him.  There was only one person save himself who had access to the security code to his apartment, and on instinct, Hux wrenched his hand back, leaping to his feet in front of the sofa, guilty in a way he couldn’t explain.   _Phasma._

She was scolding him even before the door had the chance to slam into the wall with the force of her opening it.  “ _Ethan Hux_ , you had better be dying or I’m going to kill you myself!”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: food issues/disordered eating, themes of self-hatred, and suicidal ideation.

Hux had had the bad fortune of pissing Phasma off a number of times in his life.  Generally they got on like brother and sister, any disagreements between the two of them resolved with a healthy dose of scathing banter and a bottle of wine that Hux allowed Phasma to drink more than her share of.  But he had never seen her like this.

She was dressed in grey fleece sweatpants with a drawstring cinched at the waist, her red overcoat open to expose a white wife-beater that hugged the curve of her breasts, a flannel scarf half-wrapped around her neck the only deference to the fact that the late autumn air had been cold even when Hux had ushered Ben to his car.  Her face was devoid of makeup - no red lipstick in sight - her skin bare and shiny, as if she’d already cleansed it for the night, and the fringe that usually fell on her forehead was pulled back with a wide purple band.  On her feet, she wore a beat-up pair of converse, one of them untied, Hux noted - and she looked _livid._

Her arms were loaded down with an array of brown paper sacks as she propped the door open with her hip, staring Hux down with enough ire that he wasn’t sure he wouldn’t melt into the floor then and there.  

“Phasma!” Hux tried, weakly, instinctively placing himself between Ben and the door and spreading his hands - the ones that had just touched along Ben’s face - in a placating gesture.  Phasma knew him too well to buy his innocent act, but it was the only defense he had.  He had to at least _try._

“Don’t you _Phasma_ me,” she swore, her cheeks flushed - from cold or anger, Hux didn’t want to guess.  “You texted me over an hour ago asking me to bring over _‘the kind of food sick people eat’_ \- whatever the hell that means - and I haven’t heard back from you since.  I called you three times, Hux.   _Three times._ After 30 minutes, I was truly beginning to worry.  At 45, I figured you had died alone in your apartment like I always expected would happen to a hermit  like you.  I just didn’t think it’d be so _soon._ ”  She jostled the bags in her arms, trying to get a better grip on them.  They didn’t look heavy, Hux thought, but it must have been awkward, with so many of them.  “Now get your ass over here and help me before I decide to kick it instead.”

Whatever worry Phasma had harbored for him had apparently evaporated now that she knew he had survived, eliminating any hope he might have had of using that to his advantage.  She gestured impatiently with the bags, and Hux reached behind to give Ben’s knee a comforting pat before leaving him on the sofa to hurry to Phasma’s side.  He felt bad, truly he did - but surely Phasma was overreacting.  It hadn’t been an hour, couldn’t have been more a few minutes, since he’d sent her the message asking for her help.

“Don’t you think I would have texted you something more dire had I been about to expire on my apartment floor?” he shot back, Phasma bristling as he took two of the bags from her arms and held the door open for her to enter the living area of the penthouse.  The look she gave him in response could have killed, and she shook her head like she was trying to flick her bangs out of her eyes - a habit of hers, even if they were already held back by the band in her hair.

“Oh c’mon!  You know I didn’t mean to worry you!”  He wasn’t above pleading; Phasma’s anger was uncomfortable enough to deal with when he had to sit across from it in a conference room - it was unbearable when it was directed at him.  “It can’t have been that long, Phasma!  I just sent the text a few minutes ago.  I don’t even know how you made it here so quickly - you must have caught the train at exactly the right moment!”

Phasma set the bags still in her arms on the counter of Hux’ kitchen with enough force that there was a worrying clunk from inside, something glass meeting granite none too gently, and Hux reached out to steady them so they wouldn’t crash to the floor.  

“You _‘just sent the text a few minutes ago,’_ did you?” She asked, Hux wisely opting to keep his mouth closed.  This was the type of question that was better left unanswered.  “I didn’t know there was a defect in the clock settings of the iPhone 7.  Maybe it’s just the rose gold edition, because mine says…”  She trailed off, reaching into the handbag she had slung across her shoulder - a small thing, metallic silver, and barely large enough to hold the cell phone she pulled out of it.  

“Funny,” she said, though her tone made it clear she didn’t think it was funny at all, and with a few taps of her finger she was accessing her messages and thrusting her phone directly into Hux’ line of vision.  “It says you sent the message at 9:03pm.  And it’s now, what?  Twenty past ten?”

There wasn’t much he could say to that, and chastised, Hux took a step back.  Okay, so maybe Phasma wasn’t entirely unfounded in thinking he had died.  He supposed, out of context, the texts must have appeared fairly alarming, but well… he _was_ alarmed, and out of his depth, and he hadn’t really considered that Phasma would get so upset over the prospect of him being unwell.  It was actually rather touching, and he let out a sigh of relief when Phasma allowed him to help slip the strap of the metallic handbag over her head so he could hang it on the arm of one of the chairs sat at the counter.

“So time slipped away from me,” he said, hoping he sounded appropriately contrite.  “You know I didn’t do it on _purpose._ You were the only one I could think of to ask, and it wasn’t as if I could _leave._ Please, Phasma, after the day I’ve had, I just need you to… to not hate me, okay?”  He gave her his most winning smile, less shining than it would have been, had he not been so wrung out.  “At least it looks like I didn’t interrupt a night out?”

Which, now that he was thinking of it, was something of a miracle.  It was after dark on a Saturday and, for once, Phasma wasn’t being admitted to any of Manhattan’s newly opened clubs.  Instead, she was standing in his apartment, looking like she’d already been tucked in bed reading when she’d received his message.  It wasn’t the first time Hux had seen Phasma without makeup, but it was the first time it had happened _sober -_ the last time had been after a gallery opening, when she’d drank too much and Hux had been the one to help her to bed - and he couldn’t help staring a little. She was striking even without it, though the spot treatments covering the few blemishes on her face distracted from it a bit.  (Not that he valued his life little enough to tell her that.)

Phasma still hadn’t answered him - was, in fact, still giving him that look that said she didn’t _care_ what type of day he’d had, she wasn’t about to buy into any of his excuses - and Hux gulped.  “There’s really no need for you to wear makeup, you know,” he offered.  “You’re beautiful?”  He really hadn’t meant for it to be a question, but it came out as one.

“Oh, bugger off,” she scoffed - but Hux had been friends with Phasma long enough that he knew playing into her vanity was always a sure bet, and the corner of her mouth twitched, itching to smile even as she tried to hold onto her anger.  “I’m not stupid enough to fall for that, Hux.  I can tell when you’re trying to dig yourself out of a hole.  I’m not saying it’s not going to _work_ , but I can tell.” She ran her hands over the hair that was pulled back from her face, smoothing it, clearly self-conscious now that she had cooled down enough to remember that she was standing in front of Hux dressed in her pajamas.  “Now tell me why in the bloody hell you needed food for a sick person - which I got, by the way, like the quality friend I am.  Because you look just fine to me, and I _know_ you’re not charitable enough to be taking care of somebody else.”

“Did you get the med dispenser, too?” Hux asked, digging through the first of the paper bags now that he was certain Phasma was going to forgive him.  Someday.  When he located something hard and plastic inside, he turned to look at Phasma.  “No, well, I, uh.  The thing is, you see, I -”  He shook his head.  The words wouldn’t seem to come out.  How could he even _begin_ to explain this to Phasma?  Phasma who had once watched him pretend not to see someone fall down the stairs.

“Really, it’s just - I’m not sure if word at the office has already reached you.  If it hasn’t, you’ll hear about it soon enough, but - “ He fumbled for words for a moment more before giving up and nodding back in the direction of the sofa, where Ben had pulled himself into a tight ball, and the sight made anything he might have had to say to Phasma dry up instantly.  The tea had again been abandoned on the coffee table, and Ben looked smaller than when Hux had left him there, his knees tucked to his chest, his shoes planted on the sofa, shoes Ben had been running around in all day - but that wasn’t what concerned him.

There was a stricken look on Ben’s face, his front teeth chewing his lip savagely, and the fingers of his good hand were digging into the leg of his pants.  Immediately, Hux knew something was wrong, though he couldn’t imagine what.  Before Phasma had arrived, Ben had seemed… well, if not at ease, then at least slightly calmer than Hux had seen him before this, about to drink the tea that Hux had made for him.  Now, he looked as if he wanted to disappear into the sofa, his eyes scrunched shut, and Hux dropped the dispenser back into the bag to rush to the sofa, swearing when his foot caught on the rung of a chair on the way out of the kitchen.  It seemed he couldn’t go more than a few minutes without screwing up with Ben; even when he thought things were going right, the smell of something savory noticeable in the kitchen now that Phasma had removed her coat and was tucking into a carton of take-out, he did more harm than good.

“Ben,” he asked, dropping to his knees in front of the sofa.  He could feel Phasma’s eyes on him, the weight of questions he didn’t have answers to, as he placed a tentative hand on Ben’s knee, squeezing lightly.  “Ben, what’s the matter?  Are you feeling alright?”  

It was clear the answer was no.  Maybe he was having a delayed reaction to the anesthetic from earlier, Hux thought - if so, he didn’t have the slightest idea what to do about it.  The nurse hadn’t mentioned that possibility when Ben had been discharged, but now Ben’s knee was locked rigidly under his hand, the tremors from earlier back full force, and helpless, Hux looked back to Phasma.  For years, she had been the one he turned to for advice when unsure in his course of action at the firm, the only person to whom he’d willingly admit fallibility, and he prayed that she’d be as intuitive in this as she was in manners of business.

When their eyes met, Phasma had a fork in her hand, digging into a carton of some kind of noodle dish that was held open in the other, but she stopped the bite midway to her mouth, frozen, as she stared at Hux knelt there on the floor.  It occurred to him then that, in the midst of their arguing, this was the first look she was getting at Ben, who had been in a bad enough state even before this, and her mouth dropped open just a bit.  Hux would have explained, had she given him the chance, but Phasma took one look at his sleeves, the cuffs still rolled up around his forearms, and cut him off, sounding just as horrified as she looked when she said:

“Hux, what did you _do?”_

\---

Ben’s mind turned into one long repetition of ‘ _oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no_ ’ the second Mr Hux’ front door was slammed open and the shouting began. Normally, when he still lived at ho- _when he still lived in Han and Leia’s house_ , he’d make himself scarce and go stay in his room until someone told him to come back down. Unless, of course, they were angry at him - which seemed to be most of the time, really. But Han and Leia’s relationship was a stormy one even without Ben there to make everything worse, and they could fight for days; voices always raised just under the level of actual shouting. They couldn’t let the neighbours know there were disagreements, now could they? Ben always had to try and make himself as small and invisible as possible, because it never did take much for the full focus to turn his way - and when it did, it never ended before he was a sobbing mess on the floor, begging forgiveness for ruining their lives.

And now that woman - what was her name? Phasma? - was angry with Mr Hux, and it was all Ben’s fault. He couldn’t fucking believe himself; he’d been at Mr Hux’ home for what? A couple of hours? And he’d already started fucking things up. He had to fix this! Mr Hux had done nothing wrong, he’d been far nicer to Ben than he needed to by just staying with him when he was getting treatment - inviting Ben home with him, making him tea.... Mr Hux was a good man, pure, noble even. Nothing even close to the disgusting, tainted piece of filth that was Ben. He didn’t deserve to be yelled at; this was all Ben’s fault. The only one who should be yelled at or punished here was him - and God knew he deserved it after today. He could never make everything right, but he could at least try and get Mr Hux cleared of any blame.

He just needed them to stop the shouting first, because it was bringing all the bad stuff back to the forefront of his mind, bringing back memories of so many times when he’d been caught in the crossfire with nowhere to go. It was like being back _there_ all over again, and Ben was fighting back the panic, fighting hard against the need to run and hide. Fear was a heavy lump in his throat, and he could feel the tears starting to leak again. This had to stop! He needed it to stop! _Needed it to stop, needed it to stop, needed it to stop! Needed it to stop right now_! Squeezing his eyes shut, he curled himself into a ball out of pure instinct, trying to make himself as small as possible. Wrapping his arms around himself to at least try to steady himself, to feel some modicum of control of his body and its reactions, he tried to focus on breathing again. He tried picturing those rolling green hills he’d seen during the vacation to Ireland all those years ago - how blue the sky had been, how the grass stretched on forever, how happy he’d felt in that moment. But he couldn’t let go of the feeling of absolute dread, and the rolling green hills became the green of a football field, his hand squeezing himself became Han’s hand nearly crushing his shoulder as he was dragged to the car, the silence of Ireland filled with the venomous tone of Leia saying they were selling his football gear since it was obvious he wasn’t good enough to waste more time and money on.

Forcing himself to think of something else, to drown out the raised voices, Ben tried to think of something, _anything_ , that was happy but not connected to his parents. He hated that it was always so hard; there never was a lot of happy in his life that wasn’t immediately followed by pain - but he needed to _get his shit together_ so he could make that woman understand it wasn’t Mr Hux’ fault! Re-focusing on breathing, he tried to resist the urge to cover his ears when his hyper-aware mind caught on to the presence of a person right next to the sofa, followed by Mr Hux asking him if he was alright. No he was most definitely not alright, but as always when he got like this speaking was near impossible. He got all frozen up and he couldn’t find the words, and it only added to the stress he was already feeling. Mr Hux’ landed on his knee, and he zeroed in on the touch. It was a warm hand, it felt soothing, and he wasn’t pressing down too hard or trying to grab hold - just keeping it there, squeezing only just enough for it to feel grounding instead of threatening. Mr Hux had very nice hands, his brain decided to remind him for God knows what reason. Slender, pale, but very firm; not weak hands in any way - the hands of a man who knew what he was doing, a capable, determined man. His brain thought there might be freckles too, but Ben wasn’t so sure. Part of him wondered when the hell he’d managed to notice so much about Mr Hux’ hands, but since it was proving very calming and comforting, he allowed his brain to keep its little stream of thoughts going. It wasn’t as if he had the energy to do much else at the moment, and he really needed to fix this situation.

Then the woman spoke again, and Ben knew an accusation when he heard one. He had to fix this now! Forcing his eyes open, willing his body to uncurl itself just a little, he looked in the direction of the kitchen where the woman was still standing - casually eating at the same time as she was angry at Mr Hux. As if she didn’t even feel like he should have her full attention! Oh, Ben knew how that felt, and he wouldn’t stand for Mr Hux being treated like that when he’d done nothing wrong!

“Please stop yelling at him!” he managed to croak out, voice small and pathetic even in his own ears, but he had at least managed to speak! “This is all my fault, ma’am - leave Mr Hux alone! I’m the one who’s fucked up, Mr Hux was only trying to help me - and it’s _not_ okay for you to be yelling at him when _I’m_ the bad guy here!” Oh God, he was crying again, but he couldn’t back down. He could take being yelled at, it was okay, but he couldn’t handle anyone else getting all the blame for his fuck-up. “If you’re gonna yell at anyone, ma’am, you should be yelling at me, because at least _I_ deserve it!”

With that, he was out of energy again, and the fear he’d managed to temporarily push aside came crawling back, because now he realized _he_ might get yelled at. Glancing over at Hux, he was all kinds of confused upon seeing that the man looked horrified by his little outburst. Shame struck him like a blow, and he curled on himself again - trying to make himself as small as possible, in the hopes that they would stop looking at him. It was making him so very anxious. He’d obviously managed to fuck up - _again_ \- by trying to un-fuck the whole situation. Of course he had. Trust pathetic waste of space Ben Solo to fuck up even when he tried to fix things. He should have just sent Mr Hux home and jumped into East River like he’d thought about earlier that day. That would have saved them all a world of trouble.

\---

“Ben?” Hux was still crouched on the floor next to the sofa, his knees beginning to ache from the position, and he shifted slightly to relieve the pressure.  “Ben, I need you to calm down, can you do that for me?  You haven’t done anything wrong, do you hear?  Nothing at all.”  That wasn’t exactly true - Ben’s office, as well as those nearest to it, would take weeks to repair, but he didn’t think Ben needed to be reminded of that right now.  It was clear he was already punishing himself for something deeper than that, something that had been a part of him for far longer than his outburst this afternoon, and Hux pulled himself up onto the sofa, groaning as he did so, to sit at Ben’s side.

Ben was crying again, just as hard as he had at the office, and, Hux realized with a start, had removed his injured arm from the cushion to wrap it around his ribs.  The doctor at the emergency room had instructed him not to move it more than necessary - not to use it at all for at least a week - and now Ben’s fingers were straining against the splints that held them in place, attempting to dig into his side.  If it had hurt just lying there immobile, Hux couldn’t imagine how it must have felt to try to force his recently dislocated fingers to bend like that, and he knew it must have pulled at the stitches holding his knuckles together, but Ben didn’t seem to feel it, instead wholly focused on bringing up the gasping breaths that shook his shoulders.

When Hux reached out a hand to turn Ben’s shoulder back toward him, the boy flinched away, a tightening of all of his muscles at once, like he was bracing for Hux to deck him, followed by twist of his features that said he felt guilty for his reaction - and as he looked at the way Ben screwed his eyes shut tighter, waiting for something terrible to be done to him, Hux was suddenly taken with an indescribable anger.  He wasn’t sure if it was directed at Phasma or at himself or at whoever had taught Ben to expect he would be hurt - possibly all three - his hand aching to crumple something all the same, the way he would papers on his desk when Mitaka was being particularly dense.  But his anger was the last thing Ben needed added to the mix, and he pulled his hand back, shaking it out as he tried to center himself.   _Ayurvedic breathing techniques, right._ Except he couldn’t remember any of them.

“What did _I_ do?  Would you look at what _you_ did?” he said to Phasma, when he was certain he could keep his words light and level, nonthreatening despite the frustration underlying them.  “You can’t really think _I_ beat the shit out of him?  Look at the boy - he’s a mess.  You’ve seen me in a fight; I couldn’t do this much damage if I tried.”

“You’re tougher than you look,” Phasma offered, but her voice was hollow and flat as she looked between the two of them.  Hux knew she felt bad - though Phasma didn’t mind scaring people, she usually kept it relegated to those employees who required a little scaring to keep them in line.  “The last time you fought, you managed to get a few good punches in, even if you _were_ three sheets to the wind when that bastard decided to insult your watch.  I’m sure he’ll never make that mistake again - you would have broken his nose if I hadn’t been there to pull you off of him.”

She gave him a lopsided smile and shrug of the shoulders, as if to say _it’s the truth,_ and Hux hummed in response; in the moment, he’d been proud of his unsung boxing skills, but this wasn’t the kind of story Ben needed to hear about him.  He didn’t want Ben thinking he’d just gone home with a man who went around attacking people for insulting his fashion choices - even if the asshole at the back of the bar last New Year’s Eve had been deserving of the bloodied nose Hux had left him with.  That was a story better left for another time.

“Ben, I’m going to get your arm situated on the pillow again,” he explained, turning his attention back to the boy in front of him.  Hux hoped he’d be more willing to accept his help if he let Ben know what he was doing.  “You’re not supposed to be moving it about, remember?  So let me help with that, and then I’ll explain.  Phasma may be loud.”  And here he fixed her with an unforgiving stare that she had the good sense to respond to by looking down at her Converse.  “ _And obnoxious._ But her heart’s in the right place, I promise.”

This time, when Hux reached for him, Ben didn’t react, staring at Hux with wide brown eyes as he allowed him to prod at the elbow wrapped around his ribs.  The bones there were as prominent as the ones in his spine, pressing white against his skin, and Hux fit his palm around them gently, taking the slight weight of Ben’s arm in his hands.  Back at the emergency room, he’d had a hard time believing that Ben was 25, but looking at Ben’s face now - all wet, glassy eyes and tear tracks down a slightly-too-big nose - it was even more difficult to take Ben’s date of birth seriously.  

When Hux lifted Ben’s arm, Phasma coming to the edge of the sofa unasked to arrange the pillow underneath of it, he shot her a questioning look, narrowing his eyes.  Phasma was many things, but none of those was motherly.  Just let her try and question what Ben was doing in Hux’ apartment now that she apparently was at his beck and call, arranging pillows to his comfort.  The thought made Hux choke on a laugh - he didn’t want to call attention to what Phasma had just done, lest she stop herself from doing it again - and he schooled his expression into something serious, as he settled the arm back on the pillow, Ben sucking in another one of those staccato breaths that Hux was learning to recognize meant _ouch, that hurts but I feel like I’m not supposed to say that_.

“She was just worried,” Hux continued, rubbing his thumb soothingly over a circle of skin on Ben’s forearm that had been left unbandaged, “and she was right about one thing, you know.  I shouldn’t have gone so long without responding to her texts.  That was rude of me, though she definitely could have chosen a less dramatic way of correcting my behavior.  One that doesn’t involve scaring my houseguests half to death.”

“He’s right about that,” Phasma cut in, and she bent down to retrieve Ben’s tea from the coffee table.  “This is yours, right?  Hux never drinks peppermint.”  She gave him the kind of wide smile he’d once seen her give to a particularly floppy-eared beagle the two of them had encountered when sharing lunch in Central Park, and Ben nodded just slightly, biting his lip and still refusing to meet Phasma’s eyes.

“You should take a few sips then.  It’ll help calm you.”  Surprisingly, Phasma didn’t take Ben’s dismissal as an affront, holding the tea out to him and waiting for him to take it with more patience than Hux thought her capable of.  When he finally uncoiled enough to accept the gesture, his left hand reaching for the mug clumsily, she helped guide the beverage safely to his lap, and Hux narrowed his eyes further.  Just who the hell was this and what the hell had they done with the Phasma he knew?  

“As I was saying, Hux isn’t _often_ right,” she continued, as if helping someone settle their tea in their lap was something she did everyday and not the strangest thing Hux had seen in the past week, “but in this instance… yes, I should have thought better of my behavior.  I wasn’t expecting there to be guests.  You might not know this… Ben, is it?”  And Ben nodded again, looking at Phasma like he had no idea what to expect from her next.  Hux couldn’t blame him - Phasma was his best friend, and _he_ was flummoxed.  “Well, you might not know this, Ben, but you are the first living human I have ever seen set foot in Hux’ apartment.  I’m serious - I was beginning to think he’d installed some state-of-the-art security system that incinerated people immediately upon attempted entry.”

“Phasma!” Hux exclaimed, alarmed, not for the first time, at her lack of tact.  “That isn’t true, Ben.  People have visited before.”  And they had.  Carpet installers.  The repairman who had fixed his garbage disposal.  The woman he had in to do deep cleaning once a month.  Ben didn’t need to know the specifics.  “Phasma just doesn’t always know when it’s not the best time for a joke, isn’t that right, _Phasma?”_ His tone of voice dared her to disagree.

When their eyes met over the top of Ben’s head, it was Phasma’s turn to narrow hers at him, and Hux felt traitorous heat building in his cheeks.  He had no reason to be embarrassed - it wasn’t like he had anything to hide.  He was merely being a good samaritan, he told himself; certainly no one could fault him for that.  But the thought didn’t do anything for the pink flush he could feel lighting up his face, and he turned his face to the side, studying the back of the sofa with renewed interest.

“Oh, I don’t know.  I think my jokes are rather timely.”  There was something smug in Phasma’s voice that Hux refused to acknowledge, and he was grateful when she turned her gaze back on Ben.  It wasn’t the end of it, he knew - not by a long shot.  This was Phasma, after all.  But he was glad to at least postpone the uncomfortable conversation he suspected was forthcoming until his mind was functioning more quickly.  There was no way he’d be able to able to defend himself appropriately from Phasma’s prying if he wasn’t in top form.  

“Good lord, Hux,” she said, looking at Ben critically now that her focus was on him rather than on the reason for Hux’ unease.  “The boy’s still a mess, and he looks like he hasn’t eaten in a week.  Were you going to feed him or just wait until he withered away entirely?”

Hux felt a little guilty for talking about Ben like he wasn’t there, and he gave him a nudge with his shoulder, gently, so as not to jostle him.  

“Why do you think I asked you to bring over takeout?” he said irritably.  “I wasn’t going to eat in front of him.  You’re the one who’s already helped herself to dinner.”  Phasma’s cheeks went a little pink as well at that, and, satisfied that his barb had landed, Hux continued.  “What did you pick up anyway?  It smells good.”  And it did - like comfort food, warm and hearty, exactly the kind of thing Hux imagined Ben needed.  Something that would feel good in his stomach as well as taste good going down.

“You remember that homecooking place a few blocks down from my apartment?” Phasma answered.  “The one with the wooden spoon on the sign, and that strange little duck?  Why a duck, I ask you?  Anyway, I picked it up there, some kind of chicken noodle casserole thing.  I don’t know, but it has breadcrumbs on the top, and you can’t go wrong with breadcrumbs.  You’re lucky I made it over here without eating the entire damn carton myself.”  When Hux looked to the carton on the coffee table, he saw that Phasma wasn’t kidding - a good dent had been made in the casserole, and Phasma sighed heavily.  

“Don’t worry, there’s another container.  I had to eat too, you know!  You interrupted me to give me a heart attack in the middle of ordering my own take out.”  She plucked the carton from the table and took another defiant bite, her chewing exaggerated, as if to make a point.  “But it’s going cold now, so how about I make Ben a plate since I’m not certain he’ll survive for much longer left in your care without my help?”

“Y-you really don’t have to-,” Ben began to sputter, but stopped himself before he managed to finish that sentence. It would hardly help him at the moment; it wasn’t as if he could actually do it himself right now, no matter how much he wished he could. But maybe it was alright this time? He was really badly hurt, and the doctors had told him to be careful - that had to mean he wasn’t being a bother, right? Glancing nervously between Phasma and Mr Hux, he swallowed hard, and tried again.

“I-I don’t think I can manage too much,” he mumbled, blushing when the other two had to lean in - or, in Phasma’s case, take a step closer to hear him. “I’m not really… you know, that hungry, and it’s sort of late. C-can I start with a little? W-would that be alright? I really don’t want to be a bother-”

And there he went _again_. If they weren’t already annoyed with him, they sure as hell would be soon enough if he couldn’t get a grip on himself. Clamping his mouth shut, he closed his eyes and tried to get his breathing under control. His arm was really starting to hurt badly now, and while a part of him was relishing it and feeling sorely tempted to just let it hurt - pain always having been one of his most favoured methods of self punishment - he knew that this was probably not the best time to do so. But getting the pain to lessen meant he needed to work up the nerve to ask if Mr Hux had any paracetamol at home. It seemed that the universe was simply refusing to give Ben Solo a goddamned break today.

Phasma was looking at him, he realized when he opened his eyes again - he head cocked to the side, something he hoped was compassion and not pity radiating off of her.

“Not that hungry?” she asked, the skepticism clear in her voice. “Ben, I can hear your stomach growling from here.  It’s almost 10pm - I’m usually halfway through a bucket of Ben and Jerry’s right now.  When did you have lunch? Did you even have lunch, by the way?”

She just _had_ to go ask that question, didn’t she? Ben fixed his gaze on the floor, face burning with shame. Was there really no limit for how much shame a person was allowed to feel in one day? Because if there was, Ben was pretty sure he’d passed it before they even made it out of the office - now it was just cruel. He shook his head, couldn’t bring himself to say anything. It was bad enough as it was. They didn’t need to know that the last thing he ate was an apple - yesterday. They were already worried enough as it was - they didn’t need that too. And, he figured, what they didn’t know couldn’t hurt them. Ben’s food issues were his own, and totally self-acquired problem. Hunger was almost as good a way to handle things as pain was, but he knew other people rarely understood that. It wasn’t worth the discussion that would follow, so he let them believe he just meant lunch today.

“Okay, that’s it.  I’m making a plate for you - don’t try and stop me,” Phasma said, and Ben didn’t know if her voice was supposed to sound kind or exasperated. It was so hard to tell with new people, but had it been Leia, it would have been the latter - with a hefty side order of guilt tripping. “You eat what you can manage. No one’s gonna be angry if you can’t finish it.”

With that, she headed over to the cabinets, and rummaged around as if they were in her own kitchen until she had produced a plate and a fork, muttering something about what would be the easiest way for Ben to eat the food. Mr Hux had looked slightly horrified, but had eventually collected himself, gently patted Ben’s shoulder, and gone over to try and get his share of the food before it ended up either in Phasma’s belly or on Ben’s plate. When he came back to the couch, he’d brought the bag with Ben’s medication with him, and Ben couldn’t stop himself from glaring at it. He knew that once he’d taken the pills he was supposed to have taken an hour or so ago already it probably wouldn’t take many hours before all of those side effects started kicking in. Phasma came and sat down next to him, putting his plate down on the table and pulling it as close to the couch as she could, before handing him the fork. Mr Hux had been carefully reading the instructions on the bottles, before just as carefully gathering the necessary pills in his palm. As he handed them over to Ben - who had to scramble to put the fork down in order to take them - he seemed to realize something.

“Water!” he groaned, already moving to stand up again. “Bugger.  You need water to take these.  I’ll be back in a jiffy with a glass - “

Ben had already thrown them into his mouth and swallowed them down with a small mouthful of tea.

“You’ve done that once or twice, haven’t you?” Phasma chuckled once she’d gotten over her momentary shock. “I still think water is a good idea, though. You’ll need something to help the food go down, and this might be your last chance.  God knows if Hux doesn’t do it now, he won’t remember to offer again until you’re well and truly dehydrated.”

Mr Hux went over to the kitchen and fetched them some sparkling water and glasses, and the rest of the meal proceeded without incidents, and in silence. Ben struggled, but he put on a brave face and pretended he didn’t. He mustn’t come off as ungrateful or impolite! A lifetime of Leia’s harsh lessons were on repeat at the back of his mind, paired with a never-ending stream of memories of Han teaching him what happens when one fails to do what Leia says. Phasma had given him a very generous portion, and it had nearly made him cry all over again; it was far too much food for him. There was no way he could eat all of it without being, if not sick, then at least very nauseous, and probably have the stomach ache from hell for the next few hours. Han’s voice rang loudly in his ears, telling him that ‘ _if it’s on your plate, you finish it - or else!_ ’ and Ben had learned his lesson well, and the hard way. It wasn’t a lesson he’d ever forget; sometimes he could swear he could still feel his ears ringing from the impact of Han’s palm - and today wasn’t a day when he was strong enough to battle that particular inner demon. He had to finish the plate, and that was that.

Luckily, the other two didn’t seem to notice his little struggle - both Mr Hux and Phasma were clearly busy enjoying the food  - and Ben managed to force the last few bites down, even though it felt like they might just come right back up. He leaned back slightly, to give his belly as much room as he could to expand, without looking like he was going to lie down or anything like that, and carefully took small sips of the water. Cold water always helped, even if it was just a little - and he tried to think about anything other than the heavy feeling in his stomach.

He should have guessed that this brief respite wouldn’t last, because when Phasma had finished her food, she set the empty carton down and fixed Ben with one of those terrifyingly piercing stares again. As she looked him over, she seemed to be deliberating with herself, and Ben wasn’t sure he could handle whatever it was this was going to be about - his energy was draining so fast now, and all he wanted was a safe little corner under a blanket where he could sleep for a century or two. If he never woke up again, that’d really only be a bonus at this stage.

Then Phasma grabbed the fabric of his slacks and looked closer at it, before staring up at Ben and Mr Hux in some mix of shock and outrage.

“Is this _blood_?!” she exclaimed, causing Ben to flinch so violently he bumped into Mr Hux’ chest. “Hux, for heaven’s sake! You’ve let the kid sit here all this time with his clothing soaked in blood? You can’t honestly tell me you’ve left him here this whole time without getting him a change of clothes!  These pants are done for; this is never going to come out now!”

Hux’ hands came up instinctively to steady Ben, wrapping his fingers around bony shoulders and holding tight for long enough that he felt Ben begin to relax.  The boy was starting to sweat, the hair that curled around his ears damp, and Hux slid his hand up to press the back of it against the side of Ben’s neck, feeling for fever.  He wasn’t sure how long it might take for any possible side effects of the handful of medications Ben had just downed - in one swallow - to take effect, and Ben didn’t look well.  

“Phasma, lower your voice, would you?,” he shot to her over Ben’s head.  “The pants were a wash from the start; there was never any saving them.”  Ben didn’t feel feverish - his skin was, instead, cool and clammy to the touch, and Hux turned his hand over to squeeze the tight muscles of his neck just once between pulling away.  

Phasma flinched.  “Sorry, Ben , you’ll have to give me a minute here; I’ve spent the past the past three weeks speaking to the idiots over in finance.  You’ve got to yell to get anything through to them.  But my bark is worse than my bite, you’ll see.”  Hux wasn’t sure about that - he’d watched through the glass as interns who broke down crying in her office were met with a tissue and directions to the door - but he kept that thought to himself.  “But Hux, excuse my French, really is being a dumbass here.  You’re going to feel more comfortable if you’ve got something to wear other than the ratty clothes you came in with.”  

She used the sleeve of Hux’ shirt to pull him up from the sofa.  “What have you got in that closet of yours that isn’t something Thannison picked out for you?  Something Ben can wear to sleep in - you know, some lounge pants, maybe?  You went through a period where you thought you liked doing yoga, didn’t you?”

Hux looked at Ben who, now alone on the sofa, had huddled into the corner, pressing a pillow to his abdomen and curling in on himself.  He knew they were close in height, but it was difficult to guess what size he might wear.  Probably something a little bigger than himself, Hux guessed, if Ben were at healthy weight - it was hard to miss the broadness of his shoulders through the thin fabric of his tee shirt.  But Ben _wasn’t_ at a healthy weight; the nurse had said he was at least 25 pounds away from that, and when he shifted to situate the pillow more comfortably on his lap, so he could curl around it further, Hux could see the indentation of his hipbones poking out from above his slacks.

“I don’t know that I have anything to fit him,” Hux admitted.  “I’m afraid my pants are going to hang right off of him.”

Phasma rolled her eyes and thumped him on the chest, playful but hard enough to make him stumble back.  “He’s not going to a fashion show, Hux!” she said, her exasperation evident.  “He’s just going to bed.  If the pants stay up, that’s good enough for us.  Certainly you have something with a drawstring.”

Hux opened his mouth to answer, then shut it again - he honestly wasn’t sure that he did.  His experience with yoga had been a short one - it had only taken a few weeks for him to realize that he didn’t want to spend the rare mornings when he didn’t go into the office early contorting his body into shapes it was never meant to take - and Hux didn’t have much time for lounging.  And he couldn’t very well offer Ben the pair of sleep pants _he_ usually wore; it wasn’t like he could walk around the apartment pantsless with Ben as his houseguest.

“I… maybe?” he said.  “If I do, they’re in the back of the walk-in.  I’ll go have a look - “  When he moved to make his way to the bedroom, Phasma blocked his path, her hands on his chest again.  Hux hated to admit it, but there was a good chance she was stronger than he was, and that he couldn’t have made it past her had he tried.  

“Oh no you won’t,” she ordered, sending him sprawling back on the couch with a little shove that had Hux groaning in indignation.  

“Phasma, you will stop manhandling me this instant - “ he protested, and she shook her head.  

“We both know I won’t,” she said, her smugness really quite grating.  “Now you’re going to stay right here with Ben and keep him from getting lonely while I go raid your closet.  I don’t trust you not to come back out here with something business casual, and Ben needs comfort tonight, not fashion.”

What that, she walked airily toward the master bedroom, Hux sputtering indignantly.  The thought of Phasma pawing through his wardrobe filled him a sick sort of dread.  His walk-in was large - the space divided between a dressing area with a lighted mirror, a shoe rack that took up one entire wall, and rows upon rows of button downs and slacks, vests and jackets that Hux had fastidiously chosen for himself.  He loved each and every one of them, hung them as soon as he took them off, only ever saw them dry-cleaned, and he knew Phasma would never treat them with the care he did.  Visions of her tossing his favorite tangerine cashmere cardigan on the floor in pursuit of appropriate clothing for Ben filled his mind, and he shook his head to dispel them.  Whatever Phasma was doing in there, there was nothing he could do to stop it, because Ben really _did_ look like he needed a friend right now.

Hux may not have been a friend, but when he looked at Ben folding the pillow to fit it tighter against his stomach and absolutely refusing to meet Hux’ eyes, his hair growing curlier and more out of control by the moment, Hux found that there were, perhaps, some things less important than ensuring the safety of his wardrobe.  After all, certainly Phasma wouldn’t truly harm any of his clothing…. much.

“I truly apologize for Phasma,” he started, reaching over to help Ben fold the pillow into a more acceptable shape, his fingers brushing against Ben’s stomach as he did so.  Like the sofa, the pillows on it were incredibly soft, and Hux regretted having never used them before.  “She and I… well, we’ve known each other for a long time.  She has… she has a big presence.  I’d forgotten just _how_ big until tonight.  There’s no doubt she’s in there right now destroying my closet without any regard for my organizational system.  But she likes you, I can tell - which is strange.  Come to think of it, I’m not certain I’ve ever seen Phasma like _anyone._ Except for me, that is - and that’s conditional.”

When Ben opened his mouth to answer, his tongue darting out to wet his lips - that was right, Hux remembered, the medications were likely to give Ben a dry mouth, even if he’d had water to drink with dinner - Phasma’s voice interrupted from the bedroom.  “You don’t mind if I go into your drawers, right Hux?  This closet is a Burberry nightmare.  I can’t put Ben to bed in a shirt and tie.”

“Of course I bloody well mind,” Hux shouted.  When he felt Ben tighten next to him, he gave him an apologetic look and let his hand brush Ben’s side again, his fingers going pleasantly warm at the contact.  “But that’s not going to stop you.  So go ahead and help yourself.  Just don’t rumple anything up while you’re in there.”

That was too much to hope for, but a man could dream.  And when Ben’s eyes lit up in cautious amusement at Hux’ consternation, turning the brown into a warm amber that reminded Hux a little of honey, he couldn’t resist his answering smile.  “See what I put up with?”

“She’s a little… uhm, intimidating,” Ben admitted, blushing, and biting his lip. “But I’ll… uhm, I’ll take your word for it.”

“Well, in our particular line of business, that is something of a necessity,” Hux said, chuckling deep in his chest, which was harboring an inexplicable warmth. “It becomes rather difficult to turn it off after a while.”

Ben was about to reply when a triumphant shout was heard from the direction of the master bedroom, making him flinch again, then blush even more. He wished he could stop doing that every time there was a loud noise, but he just couldn’t control it! Mr Hux didn’t seem to mind, though, as his attention was fixed on Phasma’s figure as she re-appeared - a victorious smile on her face. She had a bundle of clothes folded over one arm, and as she came back to the couch, she motioned for Ben to stand. Ben hurried to do as he was told, but the quick movement made the room spin, and he almost fell right back down - would have, if Mr Hux hadn’t hurried to his feet as well and steadied him. If Ben had been a little less tired and overwhelmed, he would have thought it strange that Mr Hux had touched him so many times already, and he hadn’t minded it one bit. Normally he hated people touching him - to the point where he would actually walk away from them - but for some reason Mr Hux’ touch was immediately filed under ‘safe’. With Mr Hux’ hands gently but firmly keeping him upright, he blinked a few times to get his bearings again before forcing himself to meet Phasma’s gaze.

She held up a t-shirt in front of him, assessing its fit, he guessed, before nodding to herself. Next came a pair of simple black sweatpants, which looked like they might actually be the proper length even for Ben’s legs - something that was fairly unusual for him. Leia always said his legs were too long to find pants for, so it felt good to see a pair that might actually fit him - as long as they stayed on. The waist did look larger than he knew his hips were, but luckily the drawstring seemed to still be there. Ben usually hated those, and wasted no time in removing them if he could - but he knew that right now that drawstring was very necessary to preserve whatever little ounce of dignity he might still possess.

“Well, you won’t win any awards for high fashion, but I think these will do well enough,” Phasma said with a satisfied nod. “Oh, and I took the liberty of digging up some underwear and socks for you as well, since I’m betting that blood probably soaked right through everything, and Hux doesn’t always think about the details.  That’s what he has me for.”  She sent him an exaggerated wink.

“T-thank you,” Ben stammered, and accepted the bundle - shifting awkwardly where he stood. They didn’t expect him to change right then and there, right? “Uhm, where can I…?”

“Hux hasn’t given you a room to sleep in yet?” Phasma fixed Mr Hux with a judgmental glare. “See, this is why you never have houseguests!  You’ve got what, seven guest rooms?  And you were going let him sleep on the damned couch?  Where’s your hospitality - the boy’s hurt!”

“Of course I wasn’t going to let Ben sleep on the sofa,” Mr Hux snapped, defensively. “I’m not a complete social pariah; I do have _some_ idea of the basic social niceties!”

He carefully moved a hand to rest between Ben’s shoulder blades, gently coaxing him into following as Hux lead him and Phasma down the hallway leading from the living area to the rest of the apartment. Ben couldn’t believe there could be this many rooms and open spaces in one apartment. Sure, it _was_ a penthouse, but up until that point Ben hadn’t really thought homes like this actually existed outside of Hollywood movies. They rounded a corner, and stopped opposite a set of double doors, behind which, Mr Hux informed, was the master bedroom. Ben’s room would be right here, just across the hall, so he wouldn’t have to go far if he needed help with anything. It was also the nicest guest room he had, and Ben looked like he needed that right now. As they stepped into what was now, apparently, ‘Ben’s room,’ Ben was blown away for the ‘nth time that day by the sight.

The first thing he noticed was the bed - mostly because it was really fucking hard to miss a bed that big. That bed would _not_ have fit into his old room, that was for sure. The second thing he noticed were the floor to ceiling windows he probably should have expected, given the type of building they were in, and he was glad there were beautiful cream coloured curtains to keep the light of New York out of his eyes when he was trying to sleep. The third thing gave him pause. He actually had to do a double take when Phasma opened the door to a bathroom, complete - as far as he could tell from where he was standing - with anything he could possibly need. He was pretty sure the bathroom alone was as big as his old room, and he felt more than a little out of his depth here.

“Go on, don’t be shy,” Phasma said, ushering him into the bathroom. “You can change in there.  Just leave the clothes on the floor.  Hux can deal with that later; he _loves_ it when people disregard the laundry basket.  He’s laid-back like that.  Oh!  Will you need help getting dressed, or do you think you can handle that on your own?”

Blushing furiously, Ben shook his head, more or less slamming the door in their faces - locking it for good measure. He’d managed to get into his clothes by himself at the hospital, he could damn well do it now too. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had plenty of practice when it came to getting himself dressed and undressed while having large bits of himself wrapped in bandages or plaster. It was a slow process, but he managed - refusing the whole time to look at himself in the mirror. He didn’t need to know how bad he looked. At least 25 pounds underweight, the nurse had said, and seeing how badly the borrowed clothes fit he was beginning to think she’d been trying to be nice and round it down - because he knew _bad_ when he saw it. Mr Hux had a slightly more lean build than he did - not thin exactly, just less broad over the shoulders, with a straighter figure than Ben’s - but the t-shirt still hung loose around his chest and belly, the dark blue boxers felt far less tight around his hips than he thought they should, and the sweatpants… After the fifth attempt he admitted to himself he’d need help tying the drawstring; his hand was simply too damaged for him to manage it.

Leaving the ruined clothes on the floor as he’d been instructed, Ben emerged into the bedroom again, where he found Phasma in the midst of fluffing up his pillows and shaking out the covers, while Mr Hux looked exasperated in the small armchair right by the bathroom door. He looked up when Ben came in, obviously taking note of the way he was holding his pants up - and Ben avoided his gaze. It felt weird to ask him to help with this, but at least Mr Hux’ touch felt safe. He couldn’t guarantee he wouldn’t flinch or accidentally punch Phasma if she came too close.

“Ah, come here and let me help with that,” Mr Hux said, shooing his hands away and quickly tying the strings together with steady fingers. “There, that’s about right. Not too tight, I hope?”

Ben shook his head, trying not to think too much about how comforting Mr Hux’ hands resting on his way too prominent hipbones were. He was really tired, and all he really wanted was to collapse into that bed and not exist for a few hours. If he was lucky, he might actually get a couple of hours of sleep before the nightmares began. Zyprexa usually did that to him - which was, if he was to be honest, the only real benefit of it. He hated the drug with a passion, but he supposed it did what it was intended to do: which was basically just to make him too tired to be able to hurt himself. Sleeping 16 hours a day was better than the alternative, at least as far as the psychiatric people were concerned. Ben remained conflicted. He hated being so sluggish, so disgustingly tired all the time that he could barely sit down without falling asleep. Right now, though, sleep sounded like the best idea in the entire _world_.

“That’s the second item of clothing that has complimented you better than it ever did me.  I’m beginning to worry this something of a trend,” Hux said, speaking softly, once he had taken in his handiwork.  The sleep pants hung low on Ben’s hips, exposing the pale skin of his stomach - where a mole sat just over his hipbone, bathed in the dim light from the bedside lamp, Hux noted - but they didn’t look to be in any danger of falling off.  That would have to do.

Ben was all but asleep on his feet, swaying dangerously at the slightest push in any direction, and Hux told himself that perhaps if that hadn’t been the case, he would have been able to stop himself from touching him.  It was simple concern for the boy’s steadiness that had him smoothing his fingers over where the drawstring had been tied into a tidy little bow and settling his palms on his sides, unconsciously counting the ridges of his ribcage.  They were distressingly prominent, and made Hux want to gather the leftovers of their dinner, cartons still left open, cooling on his coffee table, and ask Ben to eat them.   _Now._ But instead, he settled for guiding Ben to the side of the bed with a touch to the small of his back, just above where the sleep pants rode.

Hux had always thought of the gesture as an intimate one - the kind of move he would employ in one of those sleek downtown bars Phasma sometimes drug him to, just a quick kiss of his fingers to the base of the spine to gauge a man’s interest when he stood up from his chair, back before Imperial Marketing had consumed his entire world.  It was different with Ben, though, still intimate, but in a way Hux wasn’t familiar with; Ben needed this touch, needed to be told he could help himself to Hux’ space, and Hux left his fingers there as Ben sat at the edge of the bed, where Phasma had pulled back the covers for him to climb in.

“There you go,” Hux said, helping Ben to scoot back so he was propped up slightly against the headboard.  “Now remember, I’m right across the hall should you need anything.”   Hux had never tucked someone in before, and he had been so young when his mother had died that he didn’t much remember the way she had done it for him, but it felt right to pull the covers up to Ben’s chest and fold them over, smoothing them down so they were free of wrinkles.  They would be more comfortable for Ben that way, and, because he thought that might be more comfortable for Ben too, he arranged Ben’s arm so that it rested on his stomach, giving it a gentle pat.  

“This is…Yeah, uhm, I- I will,” Ben promised, a little sigh escaping the back of his throat when he reclined back into the pillows.  The sheets were 1,000 thread count, as nice as the ones on Hux’ own bed, though Ben was the first person to ever make use of them - the first person to make use of any of the guest bedrooms - something Hux wasn’t prepared to think on in any great detail with the day he’d had.  The implications of that could be unpacked another day, but when he looked up, Phasma had moved to the corner of the room and was watching them.  Her arms were crossed over her chest as she leaned against the wall, a queer look on her face, one Hux couldn’t quite place - strange considering he’d previously thought he’d come to know all the twists of her features and what they meant.  This one, however, was new, and it prickled the fine hairs on his arms, that damned blush back on his cheeks.

By the time Hux turned back to him, desperate to avoid Phasma’s gaze, Ben’s eyes had already fluttered closed.  He struggled to open them again, but it was a losing battle, and finally, he brought his good hand up to fling it over his eyes, which Hux took as a hint to reach over to flick off the bedside lamp, so that the room went dark save for the light that spilled in, 24 hours a day, 365 days a year, from the city outside.

“C’mon, Hux,” Phasma whispered in the darkness, coming up from behind him, “I think we’ve tortured the boy enough for one night, don’t you?  Let him have his rest.”

As he closed the door behind him, propping it just enough so that he would be sure to hear should Ben call for him during the night, Hux caught the outline of a small, blurred shape tearing across the room and then hopping up into the bed to fit itself against Ben’s side.  Within moments, what Hux recognized as a light purr echoed throughout the room and beside him, Phasma chuckled quietly.  

“Well, that’s new,” she mouthed to him, and Hux allowed himself a private smile.

“That it is.”  He gave one last look to the boy already asleep in his guestroom before following Phasma into the kitchen to clean up.  “You take care of him, Millie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of our readers for all of the love you've given us throughout the first six chapters of our story! It means so much to both of us to get to share this with you - and every message, every ask, every review is something we treasure. As always, questions and comments can be directed to both or either of us on tumblr: Loke at ficlet-machine and Cat at thegoodlannister. We're always eager to hear them!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: EMETOPHOBIA (please heed this warning), food issues/disordered eating, continuing themes of self-hatred, descriptions of wound care.

The second Ben woke up he knew he was going to be sick - it was inevitable. Cold sweat was pouring off of him, his t-shirt plastered to his skin, just like his hair was to his forehead. The saliva was building up in his mouth at a rapid pace, and the tightness in his stomach just kept getting worse. He was shaking violently, his muscles screaming in alarm, and flashes of hot and cold rolled through him again and again. 

It was his very small blessing that they’d left the lights on in the bathroom, and that the door was still slightly ajar, because as he hurried out of bed - his uninjured hand clamped over his mouth as his throat prepared itself for the thing to come - he knew there was just no time to either find the handle or the light switch. If he had, he would have been sick all over the floor and Mr Hux’ very expensive carpets. He barely made it as it was, with his legs heavy and knees weak from both sleep and medications, only managed to flip the lid up just as his body began violently emptying itself of all its contents. Millicent, who had apparently followed him,  _ mrrowed _ anxiously as she stroked herself against his legs - even rising on her hind legs and putting her little paws on his back to sniff worriedly at him.

He hated being sick. And because the universe just loved screwing him over, it had given him both emetophobia  _ and  _ an array of issues that required him to take meds that made him nauseous - and Ben hated every second of it. Tears began pooling at the corners of his eyes - as if he hadn’t cried enough for a lifetime during the previous day - as his stomach heaved again, forcing another round of vomit out of him. It  _ hurt _ !  Every single muscle in his body protested against what was happening, his injured hand was protesting its position on the floor, his knees were in agony as his entire weight rested on the wounds from the glass he’d kneeled in at the office, and his throat was already burning with the acid. Ben wasn’t stupid, he knew exactly what had caused this, and he mentally punched himself for getting into this situation. He really shouldn’t have eaten so much last night - his stomach could barely take that much on a good day, and that had been his first meal in days. It was far too much food, too much fat, too late at night, and he’d eaten it way too fast. Of course it would make him sick - it always did, and yet he never seemed to learn.

Clearing his throat and spitting out as much as he could of the vile taste in his mouth, Ben flushed the toilet, and sat back - carefully avoiding sitting on Millie - then loosely wrapping his arms around his drawn up knees, and running a violently shaking hand through his blood-and-sweat soaked hair. The black eye and the area around it throbbed and ached, but it was still nothing compared to his hand. Ben dared a look at it. From what he could see, it was slightly red, still swollen, and he figured he’d probably managed to moved it into the wrong position while he was asleep. He’d have to take a pillow or two and put it so he could keep the hand elevated. It was nice of Mr Hux to tuck him in like that - it had helped his sense of safety a lot - but Ben wished he hadn’t just fallen asleep right away so he could’ve asked for some help with positioning his arm better. Then again, if he had, he’d first have to struggle against all the pillows before he could get to the bathroom just now. Apparently, there just wasn’t any way for him to win here.

Ben’s stomach tightened again, and he had to more or less dive back forward to avoid his stomach emptying itself right there on the floor. There was more acid than anything coming up now, but Ben knew better than to think it was over and done with. When he got sick like this, it usually lasted at least an hour or so. All he could do was sit there, puke and spit, and feel sorry for himself until he could collapse back in bed. Normally, he’d take a cold shower, but the best he could do now was probably a quick, one-handed, wash over the sink. He felt disgusting, and he figured he wasn’t smelling too nicely either, what with the blood still caked in his hair, the sweat, the disinfectants from the hospital, and now the vomit - it was one hell of a repulsive cocktail of odours to be drenched in, and Ben really didn’t want to think about how he must smell to everyone else. At least Millicent didn’t seem to mind it too much, as she had curled up as close to him as she could - resembling a bright orange little loaf - with one paw resting on his toes and gently kneading it as if she was trying to soothe him.

All he wanted was to go back to bed, sleep this off, then hit the shower first thing when he woke up, and try not to think about breakfast for a while. But that was the thing: he still had to eat when he woke up. Now he suddenly had not only the Lithium but also the antibiotics that required food, and he knew that if he didn’t manage to eat, he’d have to try and explain to Mr Hux why he wasn’t going to take his Lithium, without sounding like he was trying to get off his meds. Ben may hate the Lithium with a passion, but he knew he needed it, and he knew that compared to some other things he could’ve been on, the Lithium was fairly kind to him. There was just that not so small issue of food and water making things a bit more complicated. He really hoped Mr Hux wouldn’t try to force him to eat before he was ready, or guilt trip him into it, call the psych ward, or anything. It was always such a vulnerable position to be in, and Ben hated it. Hated knowing that his voice, his knowledge of himself and his illness, was never enough -  _ he  _ was never enough. Other people always talked and decided things over his head, as if he was a child, and Ben didn’t even have it in him to fight it anymore. He just wanted it to stop, wanted that lump in his throat, that tension and ache in his shoulders from where he kept drawing them up in protection, to go away. He wanted someone to let him be a  _ person _ , for just once in his fucking life.

A few more rounds of throwing up, and Ben was starting to feel really weak. He wanted some water, but he knew better than to try and get on his feet right now. He just had to wait for this to pass first. This had to pass, then he could have a few sips of cool water, and then go back to bed. Even as he was halfway into the toilet, he hoped -  _ desperately  _ \- that either sound didn’t travel here, or Mr Hux was a heavy sleeper, because he really didn’t want him to lose sleep because of Ben’s stupid body and stupider decisions.

Of course, he had no such luck, he realized as he heard what sounded like the creak of a door being opened, and steps approaching.

\---

“Hnngh.” Hux rolled over in bed, taking the top layer of covers with him, bunching them up so they all but covered his head, leaving only a tuft of his orange hair sticking out. The light from the floor-to-ceiling windows across from his bed let him know it was early still - couldn’t be later than 6am, perhaps even earlier, if the sounds of the city were anything to go by. Still, even that light was too much, causing his head to pound fiercely, and he let out a groan as he turned his face into the coolness of his down pillow.

The feeling of stuffed cotton wool in his head was a familiar one - one that usually meant he’d had one hell of a night - and this morning’s was worse, even, than some of the times he and Phasma had shut down all of Manhattan’s classier establishments and finally ended up in dive bars where he’d had reservations about sitting down on the worn-in booths.  But they hadn’t done that again, had they?  And if not, why in god’s name did he feel so poorly? He didn’t remember drinking the night before - but then again, that wasn’t necessarily a  _ good _ thing.  Some of his worst nights were ones he couldn’t remember.

When he peeked out from under the covers, rubbing blearily at one eye, he could see that the fog of morning still hung over the city, and perhaps more important than the question of what he done last night was why in the  _ hell  _ he was awake at this hour. Hux usually slept like the dead, once he fell asleep, and his phone lay silent on the oak bedside table. He’d forgotten to charge it, he noted - though the cord was plugged into the charging port on the phone, the other end dangled uselessly to trail on the floor.

Sitting up gingerly, he ran a hand over his face, the scruff of his beard rough against his palm as he felt blindly for the end of the cord with his other, refusing to open his eyes entirely to plug it into the wall.  His mouth tasted like he hadn’t even remembered to brush his teeth last night, and if that was the case, he doubted he’d completed his skincare routine either, and just as he was contemplating why on earth a man in his mid-thirties thought that would be acceptable, he heard a rustling from the guest bathroom across the hall. He stopped dead, his hand half-way down his beard. He was used to Millicent’s sounds. She walked daintily enough that her paws were silent against the wood-grain floors, save for the little  _ tick-tick-tick _ of her nails when Hux forgot to clip them for too long - this wasn’t her, and his heart started beating triple time in his chest.

Someone was in his bathroom.  _ Someone was in his apartment.  _ He doubted he was being robbed; no one would ever have made it this far with the security system he had in place, even if they’d somehow gotten their hands on the entry codes in the elevator and again at the door.  Which left only one option: he’d brought someone home with him last night. And that, he thought, was scarier than any burglar. He didn’t bring people into his home; if he’d had a one-night stand, which was looking more and more likely, he did so on neutral ground. Or - if Hux was especially interested - at the other man’s home. His apartment was a no-go; that was a non-negotiable.

Until last night, apparently. Damn him and his tendency to think with his dick when he’d had a glass of wine too many.

Throwing back the covers, Hux scooted toward the edge of bed, debating whether he should take something with him on the off-chance his apartment  _ had  _ been invaded, when he was interrupted by a whine, weak and hoarse, and then something that sounded like someone coughing, gagging wretchedly, spitting. It was undoubtedly the sound of a person being sick - and for quite some time, Hux guessed, judging from the way it sounded like they weren’t even fighting it anymore. Unconsciously, his own stomach tightened in sympathetic response, and suddenly Hux was painfully alert, everything so clear that he couldn’t believe he’d ever forgotten it.

_ Ben.  _ Of course it was Ben - Ben who had destroyed his administrative department. Ben who had split his hand open and bled all over Hux’ new charcoal grey suit jacket. Ben who Hux had accompanied to the hospital. Ben who Hux had invited into his home, who Hux made tea for, who Hux had tucked into bed himself. Ben who had been prescribed antibiotics that were supposed to make him nauseous. Ben who had apparently bought right into the list of side effects the nurse had warned him about and who was now losing everything Hux had managed to get into him last night in the toilet of one of Hux’s guest bathrooms.

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ Hux was stumbling out of bed so quickly that he barely had time to find his footing, tripping over his own feet as he clung to the wall to keep himself upright. One of the legs of his grey sleep pants had ridden up around his knee in the night, though the other remained in place, and he knew his hair was in a wild state of disarray as it was every morning, plastered to his head on one side and sticking straight up on the other. He must look a wreck, he thought, one hand moving over the crease the pillow had left just above his beard while the fingers of the other trailed along the wall to keep himself steady, as he moved toward the bathroom.

There was every chance Ben would take one look at his appearance and feel even  _ worse,  _ but it wasn’t as if Hux could go back to sleep with sounds of Ben being sick just a few rooms over.  Why the hell hadn’t Ben called for him? Hux had instructed Ben to wake him if he needed anything, and Ben had been weak enough even before this. What if he’d fallen unconscious and smacked his head against the side of the toilet going down - had tested his luck and given himself the concussion he’d narrowly managed to avoid the day before? Really, Ben should have known better. Had he been sleeping any deeper, Hux might not have woken up at all, and then what?

As he eased open the bathroom door, which thankfully Ben had left ajar just enough that the noise inside had traveled, Hux had half a mind to scold the boy the moment he was no longer hanging directly over his toilet. But as soon as he laid eyes on Ben, Hux had an important realization: he was an utter  _ asshole.  _ He had rarely seen a more pitiful sight than Ben, who was, as Hux had imagined he would be, crouched in front of the toilet, hanging onto the rim for all he was worth. His bandaged hand was doing what it could to support him so that he wouldn’t collapse into the water, his forehead resting against the porcelain as he gagged again, his whole body tensing with the need to rid itself of whatever was eating up Ben’s insides - although it sounded like his stomach had already done a fair job of that, the gagging pausing long enough for him to spit unproductively into the bowl.

Hux knew that feeling, the feeling that there was nothing left bring up, stomach rebelling even against emptiness - he’d caught a truly wretched stomach bug last year and he wouldn’t soon forget the night he spent curled on his bathroom floor. It had been Phasma who’d come to his aid then, who’d made sure he hadn’t died, even though he’d wanted to. (And had somewhat wished he had, once Phasma was sure enough of his survival that she began mocking him mercilessly for the time he’d missed the toilet and gotten her shoes instead.)

Ben swallowed hard, trying to control the reflex as he heaved once more, but immediately after, he let out a watery sounding gulp that suggested he was fighting a losing battle.  _ Well, dammit.  _ Closing the door behind him securely, Hux sighed. Fighting it wouldn’t help the situation; this was something Ben would have to get through, unfortunately. And though Ben had been so focused on not bringing up what remained of his insides that he’d barely acknowledged Hux’ presence, Hux knew that _ Ben _ knew he was there, that he didn’t want to throw up again in front of him. That he likely would rather have just let his stomach eat itself up entirely before succumbing to it, if he could help it.

... and if Hux hadn’t already felt like an asshole before, that would have done the trick.  

“Shhhh,” he said, as he leaned against the sink opposite Ben, keeping enough distance between them that he wouldn’t crowd the boy. He considered placing a hand where cold sweat had collected between Ben’s shoulder blades, gluing his shirt to the dampness of his skin, but thought better of it, unsure if the touch would help or hurt. Ben was already humiliated; he didn’t want to add insult to injury.  “It’s okay; don’t go fighting it now. Just finish bringing whatever it is up; you’ll feel better for it.” It was the same advice Phasma had given him when he’d been sick, and it had made him want to vomit directly  _ on  _ her.

“D-don’t know about that,” Ben answered, his teeth chattering fiercely, and Hux imagined it must have made Ben feel the same way as he took his bandaged arm from the floor to wrap it tightly around his stomach, curling into himself protectively. “Been a-at this for a w-while n-now.” A little whine escaped through clenched teeth then, and his head hit the the porcelain again as he breathed through his nose, rocking back and forth a little.

_'A while?’_ That could mean anything from ten minutes to over an hour. Just how in the hell had he managed to sleep through _that,_ Hux thought. Or had Ben been able to keep himself quiet until it became too much? Whatever the answer, the knowledge that Ben had sat here alone for so long - his knees had to be aching from the position by now, in addition to the chorus of other complaints - had Hux abandoning his post at the sink and crouching next to the toilet, still not touching, but close enough that he _could._

“Here,” Hux instructed gently, when it looked like Ben had enough control over his breathing that he wasn’t going to start heaving again the moment he moved, “lift your head for just a second.”  

Coughing harshly and spitting one last time, Ben obeyed, though it seemed to take great effort, and he gave Hux a baleful look as he inched his head away from the water incrementally. Ben’s eyes were bloodshot, Hux noted; it looked like he had managed to pop a blood-vessel in the one nearest the bruising, and though his hair didn’t quite reach his chin, somehow vomit had managed to dry in the strands nearest his face. He must have been aware of how disgusting he looked, because Ben dragged his unbandaged forearm over his mouth, trying to wipe away the evidence - but what was dried in his hair wasn’t going to budge and really, Hux thought, he should have wanted to be as far away from all of this as possible.

Instead, he steeled himself and hunkered down next to Ben, sliding to plant his ass on the floor next to him. It would be better on his knees if they were going to be here awhile.

“Let’s see what all this trouble was worth, shall we?” Hux joked, keeping his voice light as he leaned down to inspect the contents of the toilet. It had been awhile since Ben had flushed - probably thought it was pointless since he wasn’t done, the poor boy, but Hux was glad for it, because it gave him the opportunity to make sure there wasn’t anything truly alarming in the water, like blood.  

“Ahhhhh,” he said, peering into the bowl. If someone had told Hux he would ever be so happy to look at another person’s puke, he would have told them they were mad. Because while it clearly been some time since Ben had anything more substantial than liquid to bring up, everything appeared normal enough - not that he was an expert - and eagerly, he flushed it down.  “Looks pretty standard to me.” Even that helped to alleviate the cloying smell of vomit in the bathroom, and Hux hoped that, if it made  _ him  _ feel better, it would do even more for Ben.  

“Now do you have idea what might have caused this?” he asked, arranging himself so he leaned back against the claw-footed tub and chancing a touch to the hair above one of Ben’s ears. It was stiff to the touch, and Hux winced. “I knew the antibiotics might make you nauseous, but this seems a little excessive, don’t you think? It looks like you went and made an Olympic sport out of it.”

Ben gave a weak shrug, then had to swallow several times before he could answer. That was a good sign, though. The more times he could swallow between each round, the more of it had passed, and the closer he was to being able to go back to bed and feel sorry for himself in a more comfortable environment.

“It’s always like this,” he managed, sinking back to his knees now that he didn’t feel in immediate danger of throwing up again. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

“Are you saying this is something that happens  _ regularly _ ?” Mr Hux looked absolutely horrified by the thought.

Ben shrugged again. Now was not really a time he really felt like having the  _ Food Talk _ , but he also knew he owed Mr Hux some sort of answer. Why did shit like this always have to happen to him? Why did he have to go waking Mr Hux up? Because now he was surely going to feel bad, and it would be Ben’s fault.  _ Again _ . He really should start making a list so he could punish himself accordingly first chance he got - it wasn’t as if anyone else would do it for him. The second he’d finished the thought, the shame hit again, and he had to close his eyes for a moment to keep himself from crying.

“Ben?” Mr Hux spoke again. “I know you’re probably not up to talking right now, but I need to know: does this happen often?”

“Sometimes. I’m not...” Ben had to pause and breathe through a new wave of nausea, but even though it was close, he didn’t throw up again. “I’m not very good with food, okay?  I… uhm, I forget to eat sometimes. And… uhm, the meds make me so nauseous that sometimes I  _ can’t _ .  It’s been a few days since- uhm, since I had a full meal like that. I shouldn’t have eaten so much. I always get sick when I do. I’m so sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t want to be rude. I’ll be fine. I just need to-” He had to shut his mouth as a new round of cramping seized his belly, and he had to lean back over the toilet just in case. When it had passed, he leaned back again. “I just need to wait for this to pass first. It’ll be okay. It’s already getting better. You really don’t have to sit here, I promise. I’m fine. I can handle this - I’m pretty used to it.”

“Ben,” Mr Hux said, taking in the state of the bathroom, “I think you and I have different definitions of the word ‘fine.’ See, if I were to wake up and find you puttering away in the kitchen - making waffles, perhaps - that would constitute ‘fine.’ Were I to wake up and find you still asleep in your bed, that too would fall under the definition. This, however? You throwing up nothing but acid alone in my guest bathroom for the last God knows how long? This is not ‘fine.’” Mr Hux carefully tucked some hair back behind his ear, gently putting the back of his hand against Ben’s forehead.

“We’re going to have to work on that - and in the meantime, I refuse to listen to you apologize for being sick. It’s I who owe you an apology - I shouldn’t have been such a damned idiot and let Phasma give you such a large helping. The woman assumes everyone can eat like a horse just because she can. Turn your back for a moment when you go out for dinner, and she’s already emptied your plate as well as hers. And as for me sitting here with you, there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. In fact, I’ve become quite fond of my bathroom floor and you’re not going to get me to leave it until I know you’re feeling well enough to do the same.  It’s Saturday. I’ve nowhere to be except right here, next to this lovely bathtub.”

“Really, I’m fine,” Ben almost whined. “I really am! I just… I just need to make sure there’s no more of this coming, then I’ll go back to bed. I just need to sleep for a little.”

“So the next time I wake up it can be to discover you’ve drowned your own vomit?” Mr Hux retorted. “I’m sorry, Ben, but I’m not going to explain to Phasma why I allowed you to choke to death in my guest bedroom when I could prevented it.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “There’s nothing for it. You said yourself this isn’t a one-time occurrence, so until you’re certain you’re not going to spend your mornings hanging over the toilet, or at least until you’re capable of calling for help when you need it, you’ll stay in my room.”

“What do you-?” Ben couldn’t finish the sentence as he had to clamp his mouth shut again. This wave passed as well, though it was touch and go there for a moment, and he focused on breathing through it.

“You’re really making my point for me, you know?” Mr Hux said with a sympathetic twist of his mouth. “Please, my bed is almost obscenely large - I’ve been told I thrash around a fair bit when I sleep, but we’ll be so far apart you’ll never know it, and it’s the only way I’ll be able to keep an eye on you. I don’t say this to insult you, Ben, but look at yourself. You’re in no position to care for yourself, at least not right now, and I won’t get a moment’s rest until I know this isn’t happening again a few rooms over. You’d be doing  _ me  _ a favor, really.”

Ben wanted to protest, he really did, but it was pointless at this stage. If he protested, he would come off as ungrateful, rude, troublesome -  _ a bother _ . He could not afford to make Mr Hux think that of him.  _ Mustn’t  _ let Mr Hux think that of him. But the thought of him lying down in all his filthy, smelly glory, in Mr Hux’ bed nearly had him puking again from sheer panic. So after they’d waited in silence for a while longer - Ben trying to avoid looking at Mr Hux, and Mr Hux not taking his eyes off of Ben for a second - it seemed as if the whole puking nightmare was over. Mr Hux gently pulled him onto his feet, not letting Ben shy away from him, but instead just keeping a steady grip on him as he helped Ben over to the sink so he could rinse his mouth out for a little before they started moving towards Mr Hux’ bedroom.

Much to Ben’s dismay, he could barely stay on his feet. It had been a little while since he last gotten  _ this  _ sick; he’d completely forgotten what a toll it took on his body. It was like he was made of jelly, possibly overcooked spaghetti, and he struggled to take proper steps. Mr Hux was patient with him, but in the end it was obvious that this just wasn’t working, so - to Ben’s absolute horror - Mr Hux picked him up, and carried him across the hall to his own bedroom.  _ Bridal style _ \- as if the carrying part wasn’t bad enough as it was. He made it seem so easy, too, and Ben really didn’t want to think about why that might be. They were the same height, and while Ben’s bone structure seemed a little bit heavier than Mr Hux’, it was still fairly obvious which one of the two it was who wasn’t an emaciated  _ wreck _ .

Hux put him to bed on the side that faced the windows rather than the door - and Ben was grateful; he’d always hated sleeping closest to a door. It made him feel exposed and unsafe. Besides, it was obvious from the state of the covers and things that the other side was Mr Hux’ preferred side. Somehow, he managed to be brave enough to ask for some pillows to put his arm on - so he could sleep on his side but not squash his hand or anything, and Mr Hux quickly made sure his arm rested more comfortably than it had so far. He still felt really disgusting, his left hand constantly coming up to touch at his face, and Mr Hux - of course - seemed to catch on.

\---

Hux had left the covers of his bed a rumpled mess, both of the pillows he’d used to box himself in the night before knocked to the floor, but Ben didn’t seem to mind, burrowing into them immediately, one side of his face pressed into Hux’ favorite pillow, the one he always kept  _ his  _ head on. How he’d managed to acquire it, Hux wasn’t sure - there were ten others on the bed, but that was the one Ben had chosen, taking it with him as he arranged himself, and Hux was loathe to ask for it back now, especially with the way Ben remained curled protectively around his stomach, looking perhaps more miserable now than Hux had seen him so far. If he could take some small comfort from Hux’ pillow… well then, let him have it.

He still looked pained, his hand pressing into his stomach and his face pale underneath all of the freckles, but Hux knew from experience that having something soft to lay your head on, rather than the cold tile of the bathroom floor, was the first step to feeling more human.

“Feeling any better?” he whispered, sitting down on the edge of the bed and resting his hand on Ben’s shoulder. The light from outside the windows was growing brighter now as the sun burned away the haze, and when Ben squinted against it, Hux leaned over him to hit the button on the wall that drew the blinds closed automatically. While they didn’t black out the light entirely, they did dim it, settling the room back into early morning - everything muted enough that sleep was not only acceptable, but encouraged - and Ben let out a little whimper in response, his good hand abandoning his stomach and coming up to pick at his mouth again.

It took Hux only one look at Ben’s face to realize what the problem was - his lips were raw and chapped from his bout of vomiting, and a bit of the stuff that had missed his hair was flaking off around the corners of his mouth. “Probably not much, with that hanging around your face, hmm?” Hux sympathized, grimacing.

The gunk gathered there was easily one of the most disgusting things Hux had ever seen, and when Ben rubbed his face against his pillow, he knew that, even after laundering, it would never be the same. That was a pillow he wouldn’t be using again - not that it looked like Ben had any interest in giving it back to him anyway, with how he kept his cheek pressed into its coolness. Hux understood, even as he mourned its loss - that was a  _ really  _ good pillow, always just the right temperature. He hoped Ben enjoyed it, the thought more genuine and less bitter than he would have previously given himself credit for.

“It’s got to be itchy, at the very least,” Hux said, marveling at the fact that this worried him more than the state of his pillow. When Ben’s hand moved back up to his face self-consciously, bitten-short nails scratching at the mess dried there, he caught it in his own and returned it to the bed, then pulled his plush, white covers overtop it. “I’ve got something that’s going to work better than that. Just give me a moment.”

Ben could more than do with a shower - they both could, if he was being honest - but he wasn’t in any state to stand long enough to take one. The vomiting had taken so much out of him that the boy hadn’t even had the strength left to make it to the bedroom, and Hux wouldn’t soon forget the feeling of Ben’s slight weight in his arms. It wasn’t until Hux was leaned over the sink of his master bathroom, tap turned to cool as it ran over a cloth he’d selected from the cabinet, that the reality crashed over him that he’d bridal-style carried Ben, still crusted with his own puke, into his own room. Ben, who had been in his house, was now in his  _ bed _ .  Had unknowingly stolen his favorite pillow.

While Hux had slept with someone perhaps six months ago -  _ six months? -  _ he didn’t dare try to recall the last time he’d  _ slept with  _ someone, and when the cloth was sufficiently damp, he splashed a little of the lukewarm water over his face for good measure, grounding himself, leaving his beard and the edges of his hair dripping, before returning to Ben’s side. Ben’s hand was back at his mouth when Hux claimed his place on the edge of the bed, but he reached for the cloth when Hux presented it to him, his hand clumsy and shaking like a leaf, he was so wrung out.

“Shhh,” Hux said - and he’d been saying that to Ben often, he noted, soothing him with quiet noises when he didn’t know what else to say. “Here, let me.”  

“N-no, you don’t have to-...  It’s fine, I-I can- “

But Hux knew enough to expect the protest this time, and he just shushed Ben again, with a finger to his lips and a swipe of the cloth, starting at a spot by his over-sized ear, where something Hux didn’t want to think about had stuck Ben’s hair to the side of his face. It came loose easily enough with a gentle touch, and Hux hummed in satisfaction as he moved both the cloth and his attention to a spot on Ben’s cheek, directly overtop one of his moles. The evidence of Ben’s sickness disappeared under his touch, Hux tapping his cheekbone to indicate he should turn his head further into the pillow so he could more easily reach the fold beside Ben’s nose.

It was perhaps the most tenderly Hux had ever touched someone, bathing Ben’s face there in his room, and he could feel the tension drain out of the boy as he began work on his mouth, letting the cloth rest in the corner of his lips for a moment, where the mess was the worst. It would be easier to remove if he allowed it to soak for a moment, and after, with only a little light scrubbing, Ben’s mouth was left clean, his lips pink as he ran over them with his tongue appreciatively.

When he was done, he moved to Ben’s good hand, the one that had been picking at the flaking on his face before Hux could get to it, and gently cleaned under his each of his fingernails, which Ben had bitten down so far they were chewed to the quick. With a final swipe to the front and back of his hand, Hux disposed of the cloth, letting it hit the edge of his bedside table with a wet  _ plop.  _ Ben hadn’t said anything since Hux had begun the process, looking at the comforter as if it offered the answers to all of life’s great questions.

“That will have to do for now,” Hux said, breaking the silence so Ben wouldn’t have to. “At least until we’re sure you’re not going to collapse in the shower.” He rested a hand on Ben’s belly, moving it in a small circle, and gave him a careful smile. Hux could still feel it churning threateningly within, underneath his hand. “You  _ look  _ vaguely more human, I can say that much. Do you think you’re going to need something to.. ah - “ He trailed off and bit his lip, searching for a way to phrase this delicately. “Do you want me to bring over a bucket or something in case you… in case you, you know?”  

Hux shrugged expressively, hoping he’d made his point without having to put it into so many words. “Or do you think you’re done for now?”

Ben flushed at that, two bright spots of pink over his cheekbones the only color on his otherwise chalky complexion.  

“I think, uhm- “ his voice cracked, throat raw from all the acid, and he cleared it before trying again. “I think the worst is over. Once I can, uhm… can get it to, you know, stop, I’m alright.”

Hux didn’t buy that. If there were two words Ben had trouble using correctly, they were  _ ‘alright’  _ and  _ ‘fine,’  _ but he let it slide for now, nodding and continuing the circular motions he was making over Ben’s bellybutton. It felt like Ben’s stomach was settling under his touch, and Hux was glad for it - and not only because he valued the safety of his sheets.  

“If you think you can manage to rest for awhile, I’m going to make a quick trip down to the drugstore,” Hux said, though the last thing he wanted was to leave Ben to his own devices.  “The doctor didn’t say anything about you not being able to take over-the-counter medication for the nausea, and it’s clear we’re to need something more effective than mint tea to combat this.  It’s time to bring out the big guns.” When Ben’s stomach gurgled under his hand, as if in agreement, Hux stilled his motions, applying gentle pressure to the offending area until it stopped its complaining. “That’s not to mention the sad state of my medicine cabinet.  I - uh - wasn’t exactly prepared for addressing anything more serious than a paper cut this weekend.  There’s a Walgreens on the corner just a few blocks down. I’ve never stopped in before, but they keep telling me they’re ‘at the corner of happy and healthy,’ which suggests they carry accoutrements for returning people to health. Bandages included.”

There was an expression of disbelief on Ben’s face when he finished; Hux suspected his mouth would have been hanging open had he the energy.  

“You’ve… uhm, you’ve never been in a Walgreens?” he asked, like he half-expected Hux to be playing some kind of trick on him.

“I - uh - I usually have people to do that for me,” Hux said, and he wasn’t certain why admitting that suddenly caused a twinge of embarrassment; he only knew that it did.  He removed his hand from Ben’s stomach to push it through his hair, a nervous tic he usually tried to avoid, but he was aware that his bedhead was so hopeless that it didn’t matter. There was no salvaging it anyway, not without a shower. He’d have to walk into Walgreens looking like a common scoundrel, though for all he knew that might have been the standard there.

“Oh,” Ben said, “well, I have. You really wanna avoid the stuff at the front of the store. It’s way over-priced, and they’ve put it there to make money off of people who’re in enough of a hurry that they won’t go past the check-out lane if they don’t have to.” Once Ben started talking, his voice got stronger, and now that he was on a subject he knew something about, he sounded more confident than Hux had ever heard him. “Wound care is usually near the back, I think - on the wall by the bathroom. At least that’s where it is at my Walgreens-...uhm, I mean, the one near my-...uhm, the one near where my parents live.” He stumbled over the words here, but only briefly, and then continued. “Antiseptic spray’ll be your best friend - it’s so much easier than the wipes for the uhm, smaller cuts. Go for the Walgreens brand, though. It does the job better than the fancier brands, even though it stings like a bitch. It’s what I usually use. I mean, uhm… it’s better.”

When he finished, Ben flushed again, looking back down at the comforter like he’d done something wrong, which was really quite ludicrous. He had never heard Ben speak even half that many words consecutively before, and it was something he rather liked. Something he hoped to hear more of as he scrambled overtop of Ben to retrieve his phone from the bedside table, mouthing Ben’s directions to himself in an effort not to forget them.

“No! No no no!” Hux exclaimed, opening up his notes and tapping at the screen furiously.  “Please, continue. Listen Ben, if you don’t tell me what to purchase, I’m just going to grab the first package of ace bandages I can find, and then we’ll  _ both  _ be in trouble. Phasma will never let me live it down. So if you’d please take pity on me and tell me what you need, I’ll consider it a personal favor. Doubly so if you allow me to tell Phasma that I came up with it on my own.”  He glanced up from his phone and gave Ben what he hoped was an imploring look.

Ben hesitated for a moment, looking like he was caught trying to decide if Hux was bullshitting him, or if he really wanted to hear what Ben had to say. Ben wasn’t used to talking very much, Hux got the feeling - wasn’t very used to people listening to him even when he did - and Hux nodded encouragingly.

_ “Please,”  _ he added, for good measure.

“Sterile compresses,” Ben said finally, speaking quickly, like he was trying to force the words out before he could stop himself. Hux didn’t have much of an idea what sterile compresses  _ were _ \- aside from being sterile, of course - but he typed the words into his phone anyway, waiting for further instruction. “And surgical tape to keep them attached. Oh! Or maybe the ones that have the sticky backs and attach themselves, like a band-aid,” Ben continued.  “They would probably be a better idea for the bigger ones, ‘cause if they fall off, or water gets in under them or, uhm whatever, they might get infected, and, uhm, that’s... “ Ben winced, clearly remembering something very unpleasant. “That’s not great.”

Hux believed him - he didn’t need to ask for details. He’d seen what Ben had gone through this morning far more intimately than he would have liked. If Ben thought something was unpleasant, it was unpleasant. Ben picked at the bandages over his knuckles now that there was nothing left to pick at on his face, loosening the edges, until Hux stayed him with a hand.  

“Umm… that’s probably it,” he said, nothing left to distract him now that Hux had stopped his fidgeting. “No, wait. You’ll need some cotton pads or something to clean the big wounds with, and some chlorhexidine. And gloves. You’re gonna need gloves.”  

Hux blanched. He wasn’t certain he was even capable of pronouncing that, let alone locating it on the shelf of a store he’d never set foot inside in his life, and from the way Ben looked at him, he knew it must have showed on his face.  

“I think it’s called, uhm,  _ ‘antiseptic skin cleanser’  _ or something like that at Walgreens,” Ben clarified, looking embarrassed again at Hux’ confusion. “The staff c-can help if you can’t find it. They’ll know what you mean, and they’re usually nice.” He cleared his throat again and looked at Hux with wide, apologetic eyes.

Ben, Hux thought, was perhaps the only person he had ever met who felt ashamed when  _ other people  _ looked stupid.

“Okay,” Hux said, “okay. Yes. Okay.  _ Chlorhexiwhatever. _ I’m assuming you must have fared better in chemistry than I did in secondary school.” Hux had known he was in over his head going into this thing, but with passing moment, it was becoming clearer just how  _ far.  _ Ben may have known what he needed, but he was counting on Hux to find it for him. No one had ever relied on Hux in his life - other than Millie, that was, and even she knew she’d have to fend for  herself at times if she wanted to survive. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he breathed deep, thought of the way he’d washed Ben’s face.

He hadn’t thought he was capable of that either, and yet he’d done it. He’d just have to do this too. There wasn’t much a choice, was there?

“Okay,” he repeated, more confidently this time. “Okay.  It’s all here - on my phone.” He tapped the screen. “I won’t be gone more than a few minutes - half an hour, tops, you have my word -  and in the meantime, I’m going to have Phasma over here to sit with you, just in case. Still, I don’t want you not being able to reach me if something goes wrong, alright?”

When Ben nodded, letting out a jaw-cracking yawn, Hux helped him to turn onto his side and put his arm back into position, slightly elevated, so that he wouldn’t roll onto it if he managed to fall back to sleep - which Hux hoped he would. The boy needed it, he thought, tucking the blankets up over his shoulders as the boy snuggled into them unconsciously.  The fabric of Ben’s shirt remained damp with sweat, but the goosebumps underneath of it were finally subsiding, and his skin seemed to be a healthy temperature, if still a little clammy. If he was going to rest at all, now would be the time, before had to get up and take his next round of medications, and already dreading it for him, Hux stroked a hand down Ben’s spine.  

“You’ve must have heard my blue-tooth system, yes?” he said, his voice low. He had a feeling that if Ben wasn’t able to settle enough to rest for at least a little while, they’d find themselves doing a reprise of this morning’s act a few hours from now. “She’s the one who played the Beethoven for us last night. I call her Beru, and her musical taste isn’t the the only reason I keep her around.” When Ben looked at him quizzically, yawning widely again in a way that made him look terribly young, Hux stretched across him to rummage through the drawer of the bedside table.  

“Here!” he exclaimed triumphantly, when his hand latched onto a tablet with sleek chrome backing. “See this icon here?” he asked, holding the tablet up for Ben to see before positioning it carefully between the pillow supporting Ben’s arm and the one where he rested his head. “You touch that, and it goes directly to my cell phone. Easy as that. One click, and you’ve got me on the line. I want you to keep this here with you - and not just for now. That goes for as long as it takes for you to feel steady on your feet again, got it?”

Ben gave a lazy nod, the fingers of his good hand moving slowly across the screen, watching the ripples they created in the imaging - but when he came to the icon that would call Hux’ phone, they hesitated. Hovered just over it, not touching.

...until Hux’ hand came down on top of Ben’s, closing the distance for him.  

“It works better if you actually use it,” Hux said, smug, as the sound of his ringtone filled the room.

\---

Ben had fallen asleep again almost as soon as Hux had left the room to call Phasma. He was just so tired, he couldn’t help it. He’d never say it out loud, but this whole thing just seemed more and more surreal to him by the second, and he was starting to wonder if his head was in far worse a state than they thought. How else could he explain being not only being allowed into Mr Hux’ home, and given his own room - with a bloody bathroom connected to it, too! - but even being tucked in under the covers of  _ Mr Hux’ own bed _ as if it was normal occurrence. Did the man just go rescue people like this on a regular basis or what? Ben wasn’t sure he  _ himself  _ would let someone sleep in his bed - and he hadn’t exactly thought Mr Hux to even be the type get within six feet of a sick person, but here they were.

With his blood full of Zyprexa, sleep did come quickly, and he slept like a dead man - thankfully without dreaming - but waking up was as hard as it always was when someone very gently shook him awake a little while later. That someone turned out to be Phasma, he realized once he’d gotten his eyes to open properly. She’d sat down on the edge of the bed, helping him to get some of his hair out of his face, and looked at him with… something that wasn’t pity. It took him a moment to recognize it as sympathy. As she’d helped him sit up, she’d asked if he’d like to have a shower, smiling as she stated that she didn’t trust Hux to remember that. Ben had nodded; he felt really disgusting, and she seemed to pick up on that.

The shower had turned out to be something of an adventure. Phasma had dug out some more clothes for him - completely ignoring Ben’s embarrassment and apologies for being such a bother - and showed him how everything worked in Mr Hux’ bathroom. He’d never thought a shower could be this complicated to manage, but apparently everything was just over the top in this place. Phasma had helped him unwrap the bandages, checking the state of the compresses as they removed them, and frowning slightly at the spots of dried blood showing through. Ben had assured her that it was normal. Forearms, he’d shrugged, they bled a lot - it was nothing to worry about. Phasma had questioned his casual attitude at a volume that had him flinching, then apologized profusely for scaring him, and then - to his even greater horror - offered to help him shower.  _ Ben  _ didn’t like seeing himself naked, he sure as hell wasn’t about to let some lady he’d only met the day before help him clean himself! Eventually, she’d relented, but she wouldn’t let him lock the door, and as soon as he re-emerged, she helped him tie the drawstring of his borrowed sweatpants, and then tucked him safely back in bed. The sheets were new, he realized. It made him all sorts of ashamed that he’d been so filthy they had to change sheets, but he had to agree with her - it felt very good to lie down in a freshly made bed. He hadn’t guessed her to be the type to do anything like that - women like Phasma seemed like the sort of people to have servants, as far as Ben’s worldview was concerned - but he wasn’t going to complain.

She had been a bit concerned about his wounds, but he had done his best to explain that they needed to dry and get some air on them before they could put new compresses on them. Even if Mr Hux had had the stuff at home already, they would still have to wait until his skin was dry, because wet wounds under compresses were hotbeds for infections. She’d asked why he knew so much about this stuff, then told him he didn’t need to answer, and went to make him breakfast. Ben had been scared halfway out of his mind by the thought of breakfast, but his stomach had actually growled a little - and in the right way, too. He could only hope, though, that she wouldn’t bring something as heavy as last night’s dinner.

She didn’t. She’d apparently brought a banana, and a small cup of yoghurt, similar to those he usually ate, when she came over - and she’d made him some more of that mint tea. Ben had always hated being the only one eating - it made him feel like some glutton - and he hated it when people looked at him while he did it. But Phasma had brought her own breakfast. Some sort of shake, a sandwich, and a large mug of what smelled like Mr Hux’ Earl Grey tea. It took him almost as long to get through his yoghurt and banana as it did for her to get through her own much larger breakfast, but at least she was focused on that and not on Ben. It helped a lot.

But even that small amount of food made him sleepy again, and Phasma had helped him settle back so his arm would still be free from covers and stuff even if he fell asleep, and then left him to ‘snooze a bit,’ as she said. Mr Hux would be back soon to help him with the bandages, but after that he could go right back to sleep, she promised. Ben was out like a light before she’d even left the room.

\---

Hux blew air over his frozen fingers, bags nestled in the crook of his elbow as he leaned against the wall of the elevator, looking skyward. He’d remembered to grab his gloves from the coat rack on his way out the door, but they were the fingerless kind, best used for driving - not for jogging six blocks to and from the nearest drugstore at 8am on a Saturday morning in November. It was damned cold out there, the air dry and sky overcast in a way that threatened snow.  He wouldn’t be surprised if New York saw its first flurries of the year before dinner, the tips of his ears still burning with the chill.

When the elevator pinged at his floor, Hux removed the glove on his right hand with his teeth and stuffed it into the back pocket of the jeans he never wore. Ben was right; the woman at Walgreens had been eager to help, had gone as far as to take his phone from him and look through the list he’d made from Ben’s instructions. She’d even been able to decipher what  _ ‘colorhexidyne - antiseptic stuff???’  _ meant, which was impressive in itself, and Hux had tipped her heartily, despite her assurances that it wasn’t customary for Walgreens associations to accept gratuities.

Inside his apartment, the air was blessedly warm, and he shed his coat immediately, tossing it on the coatrack in the entryway, then made his way to where Phasma was lounging on the sofa, curled up with her legs tucked underneath of her as she flipped through one of the photography books Hux kept on his coffee table. Hux raised an eyebrow at her.  

“Just because I gave Ben permission to use the sofa doesn’t mean you get cart blanche on the furnishings,” he said, dropping the bags on the counter next to the ones Phasma had brought last night so he could begin unpacking them. Typically, he wouldn’t leave things to accumulate in his apartment like this - bags on his kitchen counter and coats strewn haphazardly on the coatrack - but the past day had been anything but typical.

Phasma set the book in her lap, open to a glossy photograph of the Empire State Building circa the 1940s, and gave Hux a look that made him wonder how far he’d make it before she caught him if he took off running now. She was wearing the same purple band in her hair that she had the night before, as well as a college sweatshirt Hux had forgotten he owned until now. Hux sighed; she’d obviously helped herself to his closet again while he was away.

“I spent my Friday evening over here, helping you to put a stranger to bed,” she said. “And  _ not  _ in the way I usually enjoy. Then you woke me up when it was still dark - the sun was  _ not yet up  _ outside my window, Hux - “ That wasn’t true; Hux had been woken up by the sounds of Ben in the bathroom long before he’d called Phasma, and it wasn’t even fully dark then, but Hux allowed her to rant. “And asked me to come back across town to - to I don’t know what! Look at him? I’d say I’m allowed to sit anywhere I damn well please at this point.”

Hux supposed that was a fair point, nodding as he read the back of a bottle of antiseptic spray.  Certainly these things came with instructions, right? How much to use and how often? The ROTC had never covered much beyond making sure someone wasn’t in immediate danger of dying.

“Oh fine, use the damned sofa,” he said, distractedly. “How is he?”

“Ben?” Phasma stood up from the sofa. Without her shoes, she was an inch or two shorter than Hux, and her stocking feet were quiet on the hardwood floor as she made her way over to him. “He’s sleeping.”

“Good.” Hux set the antiseptic spray aside to tear open a package of bandages - the girl at Walgreens had told him they were waterproof, but he couldn’t find where it said that on the box, and he ran his fingers along the edges, testing them. “He needs it. We had a rough morning.”

Phasma opened the refrigerator and began rummaging about for last night’s leftovers. “You don’t say.” Once she had located them, she didn’t bother with the microwave before taking a fork directly from the dishwasher and shoveling a bite of cold casserole into her mouth. “I changed the sheets,” she told him, making a face at the taste but already going in for a second bite.

“You changed the sheets?” Hux was overtaken with a sudden wave of gratitude. It was a small thing, really, but right now, everything was such a… such a  _ mess _ that having someone to help clean up even a part of it made things feel infinitely more manageable. “Phasma, I…  _ thank you _ , really. I didn’t think you even knew where the washing machine  _ was -” _

“Oh, I didn’t say I washed them.” She licked the fork clean, then used it to gesture at him.  “They’re lying in a ball in the corner of your room. I’m your friend - not your mother. Can’t have you getting used to that sort of treatment.” Phasma smiled devilishly as she perched on one of the chairs at the counter, knee bent so her foot was poised on the top rung, but after swallowing another bite of casserole, her face turned serious. “Hux, what are you playing at here?”

Hux’ stomach turned to lead at her words, and immediately, he shoved the bags out of his way to focus on Phasma. He’d known he’d eventually have to fend off her prying, but he’d hoped he’d have at least a few more days to prepare. Long enough that he could start making sense of what he was doing before he attempted to explain it to anyone else. “Playing at?” he scoffed. “Phasma, really, I know you love your little conspiracy theories, but get ahold of yourself. I don’t have the time to deal with them right now. I got to next to no sleep last night, and Ben’s going to need - “

“You’ve got to be careful, Hux,” she interrupted, as if she hadn’t heard him at all. “I see the way you look at him.

“The way I look at him? Have you lost your damn mind?” Hux’ cheeks were flaming, and no longer from the cold. He’d be damned before he listened to his best friend scold him like a child. “He’s hurt.  Sick.  Do you honestly think I’m planning some kind of  _ conquest?” _

“I don’t thinking you’re planning anything,” she said - earnestly enough that Hux believed her.  “In fact, I don’t think you have the faintest notion of what you’re doing at all. That’s what worries me. Goddammit, Hux. You’re a genius - how can you be so  _ clueless.  _ One or both of you is going to get hurt. Jesus Christ, you smell like  _ vomit.” _

“Oh, well, I thought it was bad enough that you’d accuse me of putting the moves on  _ one of my employees.  _ Someone who needs my help. But now you’re insulting my hygiene too!”  Phasma had left the refrigerator door open, and he slammed it, hard, the balsamic vinegar rattling against the door.

“No,” she said, half-whisper, half-shout. “You’re not hearing what I’m saying, you  _ absolute idiot.  _ You spent the morning taking care of Ben, didn’t you?.” Hux couldn’t deny it, and his gaze dropped to the counter, where he picked at a hangnail. “He was sick; he told me. Hux, I know how you feel about this kind of thing. You hate being around  _ anyone  _ who’s sick. Don’t forget it was me who was with you that time in SoHo - as soon as I said I felt like I might throw up, you pushed me out of the car and told me to do in the grass because you’d get sick too if you had to watch me.”  

Again, there was nothing Hux could say in his defense; looking back on it, it hadn’t been his proudest moment, but the car had been new, and his suit newer. He hadn’t been willing to risk either of them.  

“Phasma, I’m sorry - that was insensitive of me. I shouldn’t have -"

“That isn’t the point. I don’t need you to hold my hair back when I’ve had too much to drink.  You’d suck at it anyway. _ ”   _ She cut him off again. “You’re not acting like yourself. This person who takes home strays to mop their fevered brow or whatever it is you did for Ben this morning? Who is  _ that  _ guy? Because it sure as hell isn’t the Hux I know.”

When Hux didn’t answer, doing all he could to appear fully immersed in removing the hangnail, she continued: “You  _ like  _ him, Hux - whether you want to admit it or not. And believe me, were this anyone else, I’d lead a fucking parade in your honor. Go much longer without getting laid, and you’re going to forget how it works.  But this  _ isn’t  _ anyone else. Ben isn’t some guy you met in the bathroom at a cocktail party. You can’t spend the weekend together and then ignore his texts come Monday morning. It would  _ destroy _ him.” Phasma pointed a plum-colored nail at him accusingly. “You’ve got me to pick up the pieces when this all goes up in flames. But Ben?  Who does he have? He can’t afford your knight-in-shining armor complex here, and if you care about him at all, you’ll knock some sense into your head before you do something so stupid you can’t take it back.”

There were a thousand things Hux could have said to that; he could have told her that he’d had a sudden change of heart, that he’d realized the way he was living wasn’t the  _ right  _ way, that taking Ben in was just the first in a long line of good deeds he intended to do before the year was out. That any interest he had in Ben was born purely out of concern for his well-being. That the only time he’d see Ben once he was well enough to care for himself would be if they passed each other in the hallways of Imperial Marketing when he returned to work.  But before he could voice any of them, he was interrupted by a sound from the master bedroom. The crisp slide of sheets moving against one another, and then, just a moment later, the sound of his phone ringing in his pocket.   _ Ben. _

Hux shook his head, already turning away from her.

“I appreciate you coming over here this morning,” he said over his shoulder, anger making his words clipped. “Truly I do. So much so that I’m not going to mention the sweater you stole from me. But, Phasma?” They locked eyes, neither one of them willing to break contact, until a series from a short coughs and a mumbled  _ “Mr Hux?”  _ drew his attention back to the bedroom. “Leave it.”

And with that, he left her to find her own way out.  
  
  



	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings do not apply in this chapter. Proceed freely. :)

Ben woke up from what he recognized as the sounds of two people arguing but trying to sound like weren’t. It made all his muscles tense at once and a lump formed in his throat. Upon hearing what sounded suspiciously much like his name, he went cold. They were talking about him. They were arguing because of _him_ . Oh no. _Oh no no no no no!_ Guilt seized him, and despite still being so groggy that he hardly knew up from down - courtesy of his medication cocktail - he tried to get himself out of bed so he could put a stop to it. No one should be arguing because of him - he wasn’t worth it! But, of course, his coordination was all off, and what he managed was to get tangled up in the sheets, accidently not only unlocking the tablet, but managing to hit that call button. _Shit!_ He made to hang up, but his hands were too fumbly; one barely even functioning, and the other one hopelessly shaking, and instead he just ended up dropping it. Thankfully, it landed on a pillow that had somehow ended up on the floor, but untangling himself and reaching it was a challenge.

Realizing that this simply wasn’t working, that if he tried to untangle himself and reach down, he’d probably manage to pull out some stitches, and he _really_ wanted to avoid that. The voices were still going at it - sound seemed to travel really well here; after all, he was pretty far from the living room, where he guessed they were. The call thankfully disconnected, but the tablet was still on the floor - and that was bad, because Mr Hux had said to keep it close at all times. Maybe he could call for Mr Hux to come help him with this? It would be so embarrassing to have to admit that he’d accidentally called him, but he needed that arguing to stop. And his wounds really needed some tending to right about now, so he could wrap them back up and not have to worry about anything touching them without him meaning it to. Maybe it would be okay to actually call for him, at least in a situation like this.

He tried, but he was lying in a bad angle, and his throat was more than a little dry, so instead he ended up coughing rather pathetically before trying to shift himself into a better position so he could make another attempt.

“Mr Hux?” he called.

This time it worked better. He wasn’t sure if it was the right way of addressing the older man, but Mr Hux hadn’t told him to call him anything else, and Ben had been raised to always address his superiors with respect, until told otherwise. Phasma had simply called him ‘Hux’, and while Ben thought it suited him in a way, he himself felt weird about it. He was used to calling people by their first name if they were on friendly basis with each other - but no way in _hell_ did he dare call Mr Hux ‘Ethan.'  He would, if Mr Hux asked him to, but otherwise Mr Hux would simply continue to be Mr Hux - because Ben would rather be accused of being overly formal than of being rude.

The voices had stopped when he called, and he heard the sound of the front door closing. Either the one who left was angry, or that was just one very eager door - because the sound had Ben flinching. He sighed. He really needed to get a fucking grip on himself and stop doing that for every sudden noise he heard. Then Mr Hux appeared in the doorway, something that was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile on his face.

“It’s good to see you awake,” he said, approaching the bed. “You’re welcome to sleep as long as you like, of course, but it might be nice to have some company now that Phasma’s decided to abandon us to our own devices. Though not before putting in new sheets for us, she made sure to tell me - trust Phasma never to let go an opportunity to discuss a favor she’s done you.  We’re not like to hear the end of it any time soon, but her endless pontificating might even be worth it this time around. It looks like she even found the good set in the hall closet; they must feel much better for you, I imagine. At least you don’t look like quite so much like death anymore.  Here’s hoping you feel slightly less like it too?”

“I’m sorry,” Ben began, waving miserably in the direction of the tablet. “I-I accidentally made it call, and then I, uhm, dropped it, and now I can’t reach it. I hope I didn’t, you know, interrupt you and Miss... Uhm, you and Phasma.” Phasma had made it very clear that she was to be called by her name, and nothing else. Ben was not going to defy that - he may have a death wish, but it wasn’t _that_ strong anymore.

“Sorry?  About interrupting the two of us? Ben, I give you full permission to interrupt Phasma whenever the opportunity presents itself,” Mr Hux said as he picked the tablet up and put it on the bedside table. “I told you last night, if Phasma and I don’t get at each other’s throats at least a few times a week, I start to worry something’s gone wrong in the universe. We don’t mean anything by it, really - except for those times she royally wants to kick my ass. And then you’re _doubly_ invited to interrupt. As for the tablet, it’s hardly a worry of mine. It’s not as if I can’t afford a replacement, and it looks like you had the presence of mind to aim for the pillow instead of the floor. I’d call that a success.” He looked as if he was debating with himself, and it made Ben more than a little nervous that he was still standing. Eventually, he seemed to make a decision, and offered another smile. “Now, how about we take a look at what’s been hiding under all those bandages and see where my first aid skills truly lie? Where do you want to try this?”

“Uhm, the kitchen table…?”

“Right! The kitchen table - where else? Forgive my slowness - I function better on slightly more sleep.” He offered a hand. “What are the chances you’re going to collapse if you try to make your own way there, or do you think you can you manage?”

“I- I think I can manage.” Ben managed, finally, to untangle himself, and went to stand up - but of course it sent the world spinning around him, and he would’ve fallen over if Mr Hux hadn’t anticipated it and supported him.

“Your mouth says yes, but your legs seem to have other ideas,” Mr Hux joked, smiling gently. “You just put most of your weight on me, and this will work splendidly. We’ve gotten quite the hang of it, don’t you think?”

\---

After Mr Hux had helped him sit down on one of the chairs by the enormous dinner table, he’d retrieved all the items he’d gotten while he was out. Ben was impressed. Even Leia never used to get everything he needed - especially not when it came to the antiseptics - and Ben would have to clean his wounds as best he could, so he could go to Walgreens and get the stuff he needed. He knew Leia thought he deserved it to be a hassle if he was going to be stupid enough to hurt himself, and he couldn’t recall a single time she’d expressed concern when something got inflamed or infected. Mr Hux, it appeared, had bought half the store, and was now fiddling with the packages. Ben was surprised to realize that he actually looked like he was _nervous._   It was just basic wound care - how could he…? Then it dawned on him. Mr Hux had been just as nervous before going to Walgreens. Ben had thought he was just trying to make Ben feel better by pretending not to have everything under control, but now he was starting to realize that Mr Hux had no idea what to do.

A part of him felt strangely giddy at the thought. Finally, there was something that Ben could actually do! Something he was good at. He could actually contribute something to this whole mess, instead of just being sick and helpless - a role he was used to, but hated more than he had words to express. When one was sick and helpless one was useless, and Ben was useless enough as it was without that extra reason.

He gathered some courage, and cleared his throat.

“Want me to walk you through it?” he asked. “I, uhm, I usually do this myself - but that’s usually also with my right hand. My left is pretty useless. But I’ve done it loads of times, so, uhm... If I tell you what to do, you think, uhm, you think you’re okay with doing it?”

“That...” Mr Hux said, relief clear in his voice. “sounds like a winning idea.  Consider me at your disposal.”  He sat down in the chair closest to Ben on his right side, and motioned for him to go ahead.

“Okay,” Ben said, letting out a breath. “First, you’ll need to bring a towel over here, to put under my arm - in case there’s blood or something. You don’t want that on your table. Then I need you to wash your hands, and put on a pair of gloves.”

Mr Hux was surprisingly good at following instructions, and together they got all the wounds cleaned. There was still swelling, and some signs that the area was slightly inflamed, but Ben assured Mr Hux that it wasn’t anything to be too worried about. They’d just have to monitor it, and be careful with the cleaning. He was taking antibiotics for this very reason, and just because it was a bit irritated didn’t mean it was getting infected. Mr Hux had given him a look when he’d said that - a look Ben preferred not to even try to interpret. It was bad enough as it was.

The bandages were proving a bit difficult, and Mr Hux admitted that he hadn’t quite been trained to do this kind of wrapping - his expertise was more along the line of stopping blood-flow. In the end, Ben got him to roll the bandages back up, then took them from him and swiftly re-wrapped his arm. That was at least something he could do even with his left hand - and Mr Hux looked impressed. Impressed, or possibly a little bit worried - he couldn’t really tell.

“Thank you,” Ben said once they were starting to put things away. “You did really well, considering that was the first time you did something like that.”

“Ben, while I’ll never turn down an appeal to my vanity - earned or not - I can assure you I wasn’t born yesterday. I’m just as old as I look, and I know when I’m being flattered.” Mr Hux said with a self-deprecating smile. “I’m hardly an expert after one dressing change, and I have to thank you for putting up with my attempts. I’m lucky to have such a patient and dedicated teacher.”

Ben blushed so hard he feared his face might actually catch fire, and turned his head away, hiding as much of it as he could behind his unruly hair.

“It’s easy once you know what to do,” he mumbled.

If Mr Hux had any thoughts on that, he kept them to himself, and instead managed to convince Ben that sushi was a good option for lunch - since he needed to take the next round of antibiotics anyway, and it wasn’t really a disaster if he couldn’t finish all his pieces. They could go in the fridge for later. When Ben stammered that he had actually never had sushi, Mr Hux looked at him as if he’d grown a second head, and then promptly ordered what was probably enough for a family of four - so that Ben would have as many options as possible to choose from. Ben had been ashamed to admit that the reason was that his parents didn’t consider ‘raw fish and sticky, sugary rice’ to be food, but Mr Hux had assured him he’d met other people who seemed to share that strange prejudice as well.

Once the food arrived, and Ben had felt stupid for a while as he asked what everything was, he had to admit that not only was this stuff really good - it didn’t feel too heavy, and seemed to actually agree with his hopeless stomach. The omelets turned out to be his favourite, along with what Mr Hux had told him was ‘butterfish’. He did not appreciate the tuna, or anything with avocado. The rolls had been a bit of an adventure. The California rolls didn’t work at all, but the regular ones were nice, once he figured out how to eat them. He had been beyond words grateful when Mr Hux explained that sushi was eaten either with chopsticks - which, in Ben’s case, was a no go - or with hands. It was what Hux christened ‘Ben-friendly’ food. The miso soup felt like heaven in a little bowl, and Mr Hux told him he could probably see to it that they would have miso at home at all times.

After lunch, Ben had been tired again, but didn’t want to go back to bed. He tried to stay out of the bedroom as much as he could during the day, he explained to Mr Hux. It made him feel a little better to just be allowed to be on the couch or something - somewhere where he could focus on other things. If that was okay? He didn’t want to inconvenience Mr Hux in any way. In the end, Mr Hux had helped him to the couch, and retrieved some blankets from the bedroom. Together, they managed to figure out how Mr Hux’ TV worked, and Ben found that his favourite crime documentary series was airing all day. He’d seen some of the episodes before, but it didn’t matter; the familiarity was comforting - and since he knew he would end up napping through at least half of them anyway, he preferred it when he didn’t miss anything new.

The rest of the day had gone by in a similar, lazy manner. Ben had managed some more pieces of sushi for dinner, and Mr Hux had secretly ordered more miso for him. Ben had been embarrassed, but Mr Hux had told him that his health was important, and if this was something his body could handle better, then it stood to reason that more of it should be acquired.

By nine in the evening, Ben had managed to take his evening medication and then stumbled into the bedroom, more or less collapsing on the bed.

\---

Sunday morning rolled around with the both of them being woken up fairly late in the morning by Hux’ phone. It was Phasma, of course, checking in to see if they would need anymore of her ‘assistance,’ as she put it. Hux would have called it something else; he had never been a fan of being woken up by phone calls when he could have otherwise been comfortably drifting in and out of sleep, the surprisingly soft little breaths and whimpers from Ben eliciting something warm and, by now, distressingly familiar in his chest. Ben had had some nightmares, or something like it, at least, that had disturbed them a few times, but Hux had to give the medications their due; Ben was back asleep again within minutes, a soothing word or two all that was required to chase away whatever plagued him. So when Phasma called to inquire whether her presence was needed or if she’d get to actually have a day off, followed by her reminding him that tomorrow was Monday, and that he had better have a good plan for Ben’s day, Hux had some rather choice words for her. It would be some time yet before she was off the hook for her behavior on Saturday morning.

They’d spent the day in a similar fashion as the day before - minus the more dramatic aspects - and Hux found himself enjoying Ben’s presence more than he’d thought it possible to enjoy having another human being in his home. He’d always valued the sanctuary of his apartment, but somehow, Ben didn’t feel like an intruder. Not exactly like a visitor either. No, Ben’s quiet presence - whether he was engaged in crime documentaries that had Hux stopping in front of the television each time he walked by or carefully munching on a sushi roll, taking the little bites Hux was learning made food for manageable for him - felt like something that should have been there all along and, now that it was, things slotted neatly into place to fit him.  

As long as it was a topic Ben felt confident in his knowledge of, the parts of Ben that Hux was willing to bet few ever saw surfaced readily. There came moments precious moments when Hux could have sworn Ben felt truly at ease in his company, cracking jokes - making the kind of snide comments he knew would have had Phasma clutching her sides. If she’d felt endeared to him from the start, she was sure to be head-over-heels as soon as she realized he could be just as much of a witty bastard as the two of them. And if that didn’t do it, Hux knew, she’d lose her mind the first time she saw him smile without reservation. Ben had had cause to a few times over the course of the past two days - he’d never seen someone so ecstatic over a second helping of miso soup - but Hux was too preoccupied with ensuring it happened again to dwell on the way his heart fluttered suspiciously with each flash of Ben’s crooked teeth.

No, it wasn’t until they talked about, or did, anything that Ben wasn’t confident about that he returned to the boy Hux had picked up off the administrative department floor - someone withdrawn, stammering, always with an apology at the ready. On Sunday night, Hux had dropped a bandaid on the floor, cursing out loud before he could stop himself - and he’d almost choked on his guilt when he noticed how quickly Ben became small, quiet, avoiding looking at him, apologizing for things that were in no way his fault. It had just been a damned bandaid - Hux may have went overboard in his stockpiling at Walgreens, so they were in no danger of running out - but it had taken hours to coax him back out of his shell enough that he would even accept a cup of tea. Ben’s physical injuries may have been severe, but Hux realized more and more with every passing minute that whatever had been done to him emotionally, mentally, was far worse. It was a sickening realization, one he couldn’t let Ben see, lest he start apologizing for that too.

As he focused on convincing Ben to try a vegetarian pasta dish from his favourite Italian place - _their favourite Italian place,_ a voice that had no place in Hux’ mind whispered - Hux made a decision. Tomorrow was Monday. If Ben owned any clothing, it wasn’t with him, and he’d yet to hear him mention any other possessions. As it stood, the boy tucked into the corner of Hux’ sofa (the white comforter taken from the bed and wrapped snug around him even as he focused on loading a fork with glaringly red marinara sauce with his left had) had nothing he could call his own. It wasn’t a situation Hux could imagine - even after he’d thrown off his father’s financial help and the obligations that came with it, he’d never struggled with having _enough._ He’d only ever wanted for luxury, and what kind of man was he if he allowed Ben to live his life in only his hand-me-downs?  

A man deserved his own wardrobe. A well-chosen suit and tie, he knew, sometimes made all the difference when one felt as poorly as Ben had these past days - and while Hux couldn’t undo the damage to Ben’s self-worth any more than he could mend the gash in his knuckles or the bruising on his face, he could at least get him out of ill-fitting sleep pants and into something of his own. Something that flattered him. So that night, as Ben napped after dinner - eaten as early as Hux thought Ben could manage, so they wouldn’t have a repeat of the first night they had spent together - Hux dialed the number to Thannison’s personal cell phone.  Freesman Sporting Club would be closed by now, but hell if it didn’t pay to have friends in the men’s fashion industry.

\---

“I’m not going into work today.”  

Ben blinked up at him from the bed, still in the wrapped the comforter he now took everywhere throughout the apartment with him. Although he’d made the call alerting Mitaka he wouldn’t make it in the night before, directly after he’d gotten the go-ahead from Thannison, Hux had still woken up early that morning. He didn’t need his alarm to tell him the sun was rising over New York City, that he should have been up and about before that if he wanted to make it across town and into the office on time, and once he was awake, well, that was it. He’d checked Ben for fever, as was becoming his habit - he suspected that, were Ben going to come down with some infection from his injuries, it would have happened by now, but one could never be too careful, and he couldn’t trust Ben to tell him if he was feeling worse-off than usual - and after leaving the back of his hand rest against the boy’s cheek just long enough to register that the heat there was healthy and more than a little welcome, had stripped and gone straight to the shower, where he’d scrubbed himself perhaps more harshly than was necessary.

Now, his skin glowed pink as he combed his still-damp hair into place before blow-drying, a paisley tie draped untied around his neck, the top button of his shirt still open.  

“Y-you’re not?” Ben asked, meeting Hux’s eyes in the mirror. He struggled up onto his elbows, and Hux had to bite back the urge to tell him not to put weight on his injured arm. Ben might need his help, but he was an adult, one who’d lived 25 years without Hux monitoring his every move. If the movement hurt, he’d realize and stop it. “What? Why? Y-you’re the CEO, don’t they, uhm, don’t they need you there? What if something, you know, happens?”

Ben had a faint look of panic on his face, and his hair, mussed from sleep, fell into one eye.  Looking at him, it was all Hux could do not to chuckle. “Oh, everyone’s going to be better off for it, I imagine. Might be they’ll even throw a party. I suspect most of the office actually prefers it when I’m not around; they seem to think I’m snooping over their every move, when in fact I have so much on my own plate I’m lucky if I have a chance to spare half a glance at what the rest of my company is doing.” Satisfied with his hair, he moved to the collar of his shirt, arranging it so the creases were sharp, then began the practiced movements of the Windsor knot, speaking to Ben’s reflection in the mirror. “Imperial Marketing might not run itself, but I’ll be surprised if we don’t hear the sigh of relief from here once the email goes out that I won’t be in the office today. And besides, Phasma’s more than equipped for the task of keeping those dancing monkeys in line. I have something more important to tend to this afternoon.”

By the time he turned to face Ben, he was fully dressed and ready to face Thannison’s eye.  He always made sure to look his best when visiting the shop; Thannison could be a harsh critic when he wanted to be, the first to notice a cufflink out of a place or slacks not properly pressed, and he was doing Hux a favor today. It was the least Hux could do to show that it was appreciated, that all of Thannison’s work in attiring him didn’t go for naught.

“Do - do you call out of work often?” Ben asked, looking Hux up and down in a way that had Hux shifting his weight from foot to foot, though he couldn’t put his finger on why. Certainly Ben didn’t care one way or the other whether his tie was on straight or if he’d parted his hair in exactly the right place, and yet Hux was glad that he had.

“This will be the first time in the five years I’ve run the place,” he admitted, giving his shoulders a little shrug. The fit of the shirt was just right, stretching across his shoulders as he did so, and he reached for the jacket he’d slung over the bedpost.

“Oh. Wow. Uhm, “ Ben leaned his weight onto one arm, coughing into his fist. “Sounds like, uhm, like today’s really important, then - since you’ve gotten all dressed up for it and everything. Uhm. N-not that you’re _too_ dressed up - I just, uhm… I just mean that you… uhm,  that you look really good?”

The words came out as a question, the tips of Ben’s ears burning a red so bright it looked painful, and Hux quickly turned back to the mirror, straightening a tie that was already so straight even Thannison couldn’t have found fault with it. He fiddled with the knot, knowing all the while that it was already one of the best he’d ever tied, then pulled on the sleeves of his perfectly fitted suit jacket.

“I - Ben…” and it was Hux’ turn to cough then, cursing to himself when his voice chose that moment to crack embarrassingly. “Thank you, but it’s nothing special. Just the magic of a good suit. It has very little to do with me at all, really. Put any man in the right suit, fitted by the right tailor, and he’s bound to look a good sight better than he did without it.” His own ears were hot to the touch when he slicked his hair back again, dislodging a lock that had previously been in place. “But if you like what I’m wearing, then yes, I’d say the reason I’m taking the day off is _very_ important.”

The flush had moved from Ben’s ears down onto his cheeks, and he pulled the comforter up to his chin, cocking his head to the side.

“Ben,” Hux said, speaking over the thought that he had little interest in ever purchasing another suit for himself, if Ben liked seeing him in this one so much. “Best start getting ready. We’re going shopping.”

\---

“Is that warm enough?”

One of Hux’ scarves - thick-knit, in a dark shade of plum - was wrapped around Ben’s neck, up over his mouth, and he was wearing the same pair of jeans Hux had worn on his trek to Walgreens just a few days before. It had been years since Hux had worn them before that, and he’d filled out a little since then, thank goodness - which meant that, with the help of a belt from the back of Hux’ closet, they fit Ben better than anything he had worn so far.

He reached over to adjust the scarf, making sure it covered Ben’s mouth adequately, before his driver came around to the side of the car, where he opened the door to let Ben out. Hux had to admit, the scarf, paired with a leather jacket that had been a favorite of Hux’ while he was getting his MBA, favored Ben. Here in the most casual of Hux’ clothing, he looked… good. Better than good. He looked like someone who might have caused Hux to look twice on the street. The cold had left the tip of his nose red enough that he hadn’t shaken it for the entire car ride over, but it only served to enhance the distinction of his features, while the borrowed jeans rode low on his hips, and when Ben made to stand from the leather seat, Hux’ hand went automatically to his lower back to steady him.

Hux had ever been a gentlemen, he told himself, keeping the hand there until Ben had unfolded himself from the car, then taking hold of his elbow after he was on his feet as well.  

“Really warm,” Ben agreed, snuggling into the scarf to show he meant the words. “I, uhm, don’t think I’ve ever worn a scarf this nice before. You got many of these?”

Hux shook his head, laughing. “Too many.”  

He was wearing another, almost identical, but of a grey plaid that complemented his charcoal peacoat, and his breath turned to crystal in the air as he guided Ben toward the double-doors of Freesman Sporting Club. The light glowed cheerily from within, spilling out into the grey New York afternoon. It may have been a little early, but they’d just begun their holiday decorating, it looked like, bright strands of red garland wrapped around the gold pillars that marked the entrance. While Hux had never been one for the holidays - nor had his father, and all celebrations as a child had been minimal - there was something about the display here that always managed to warm his spirit a little. He supposed because it looked so much like a New York City Christmas _should_ look, almost like a postcard, and when Ben beamed open and unreserved up at the filigree above the doors, which had been fitted with a star, large enough that it would never have been tasteful on a smaller building, Hux tightened his hold on his elbow just a fraction, allowing himself to relish the feeling.

After all, it was only for a moment.  

“Be careful of that ice there,” he warned, steering Ben deftly around a patch of the stuff, sprinkled with salt, but not enough to make any real difference. The boy was lost in the moment, still staring around him in awe as if he’d just set foot in the city for the first time, fresh off a plane at JFK, and Hux didn’t need him landing on his ass and adding to his list of injuries.   “It always gathers right outside the stoop, and Thannison’s man is terrible about getting in early enough to remove it before customers start arriving.” Ben nodded dumbly as Hux stepped in front of him to open the door.

“I- I don’t.. Mr Hux, this place is… it’s so beautiful,” he stammered, twisting the fabric of Hux’s scarf between the knuckles of his good hand. “But you know I can’t… Uhm, I’m never going to, uhm.. you know, be able to afford anything they have here.”

He was still staring up at the star above their heads, the turn of his face so wistful Hux had to look away, before he started thinking of the things _he_ wanted and could never afford.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said brusquely, to cover up the strange choked feeling in his throat, but his voice softened when Ben flinched minutely. “Ben, you’re my guest. Whenever we’re out together, I want you to assume you don’t have to afford anything. My status comes with certain… advantages, and as long as they are extended to me, they’re extended to you as well. For as long as you want or need them. Do you hear me?”

Ben looked as if he was debating arguing, chewing his lip thoughtfully, but the longing look he gave the scene behind Freesman Sporting Club’s glass doors gave him away. Perhaps he felt like he should turn down Hux’ offer, but Hux could tell that he didn’t  _want_ to. He wanted to see and touch the fine fabrics the mannequins in the display window wore, and the decision to protest was taken from him when the door swung open in Hux’ hand, revealing a slight man, perhaps Hux’ age, perhaps a little older, dressed, as usual, in one of the finest cut suits Hux had ever seen.

Thannison’s suits never failed to surprise and delight him. As slight as he was, with Hux towering over him by a fair few inches, Thannison could easily have looked half a child, but from the moment they had met, Hux had not once seen him as anything other than perfectly polished.  Imposing in the way he carried himself. What he lacked in stature, he more than made up for in presentation, his hair close-cropped on the sides, shorter than Hux’. The two of them shared the same barber - he operated out of the back of the shop, so the men who shopped here could complete the experience with a shave and haircut before venturing back out onto the city streets, fully prepared to face whatever the day had in store, at least in appearance.

Hux hadn’t had anyone else cut his hair in five years, and it occurred to him that Ben was in need of a trim - something rather more than that, if he was honest about the unruly state of the boy’s hair - but that was a project for another day. Maybe when it came time for his next trim.  Ensuring Ben was properly attired came first, and Hux gave him a whole-hearted smile as Thannison escorted the two of them inside.  

“Hux!” Thannison exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug, which Hux returned with enthusiasm.  Thannison’s cologne wasn’t his usual, but instead something new, Hux noted - warm and spicy and expensive-smelling, and he thought he’d have to ask him where he’d purchased it before they wrapped up for the day. Inside the shop, the air was warm enough that Hux’s fingers tingled in his fingerless gloves, so he turned obligingly when Thannison made to take his coat.  “I’m surprised you made it across town so quickly. The traffic’s mad out there; Thanksgiving’s not for a couple of weeks yet, but you know how people are with pre-holiday shopping. It starts earlier every year - not that I’m complaining. It’s great for business.”

Hux nodded in agreement. “Well, it helps to have one of the best drivers in the city, other than myself, of course.” He winked at Thannison, who chuckled in response before turning to a man in an indigo suit who stood just behind him and whispering something in his ear. Thannison knew of his affinity for sports cars and humored him in listening to the descriptions of those he’d purchased and those he wished to purchase and those he wished just to drive for a day, even if Thannison himself had no interest.

“I’d ask you why you didn’t drive over here for yourself, but I don’t imagine this one’s ready for that,” he joked, his attention focusing on Ben, who was fiddling with the sleeve of Hux’ jacket.  Ben didn’t seem to notice Thannison’s eyes on him, instead preoccupied with looking around the lay of the shop, the racks of suit jackets on wooden hangers, no two alike. Thannison didn’t order two of anything - not even in different sizes. If you purchased something from Freesman Sporting Club, you were certain to be the only one to have it, and Hux valued that. He wasn’t a man who liked to be impersonated any more than he liked to impersonate others.

Propped against one of the walls was a full-length mirror, and Hux observed as Ben’s eyes flickered to his reflection, his face twitching in dislike, before they returned to floor. He shuffled a step closer to Hux, pulling the sleeves of the jacket down over his hands.  

“Nah,” Hux said, closing the gap between him and Ben so their shoulders brushed. “I like to give them at least a few days to get settled in before I go introducing them to my driving skills.  Not everyone’s ready for my Mario Andretti impersonation.” While Hux was speaking, the man Thannison had whispered to earlier reappeared, caramel macchiato in hand, prepared just the way Hux liked it, and Hux accepted the beverage, taking a grateful sniff before dragging a finger through the whipped cream on top. “Thannison, I’d like you to meet Ben. He’s a new friend of mine - one whose wardrobe is, I’m afraid, woefully lacking.”

“Ben,” Thannison said, stepping forward and extending a hand to the boy, who had to struggle to free his left from where he’d balled it into the sleeve of Hux’ jacket. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Hux spoke very highly of you on the phone. He says you’re in need of my expertise, and I’d love the opportunity to help. If you’re a friend of Hux’, well, I already consider you a friend of mine. You get _special_ priority; whatever you need, you’ll find it here, I promise you that. But before we get started, tell me: how do you take your coffee?”

Ben worried at his lip again, looking to Hux for guidance, as the man who had brought Hux his macchiato came up behind Ben to remove his jacket. He allowed himself to be maneuvered out of the garment, but flinched when the man’s hand brushed the bandaging still wrapped around the knuckles of his right hand.

“Go on, Ben,” Hux nudged, eying a simple navy-colored sport coat he thought would suit Ben nicely. Certainly Thannison was already drawing his own conclusions about what would look good on his charge, but he’d have to ask the man to put that one aside just for him. Hux wasn’t willing to leave the store without seeing Ben in it. “They’re here to make us comfortable.  We’ve got the place for the afternoon; we might as well make use of it.”

“Wha…? The - the _afternoon_?” Ben looked between Thannison and Hux, his face screwed up in confusion, seemingly just realizing that they were the only ones in the shop.

“Yes, the afternoon,” Thannison answered, taking the jacket from his assistant and smoothing it over his arm, like it was a piece of clothing of the highest quality, rather than a ten-year-old jacket that hadn’t seen the outside of Hux’ closet in almost that long. “Hux and I are old friends - old enough that I know he prefers his shopping experiences to be private ones. For the next four hours, the two of you are Freesman Sporting Club’s _personal_ guests, here on my invitation. I’m here to serve.” He did a theatrical little bow in Ben’s direction, and Hux snorted.  “If there’s an article of clothing that catches your eye in this shop, you’ll have it. Now Ben, I ask again, _how do you take your coffee?”_

Watching the exchange, Hux could not have been happier that he’d thought to prepare Thannison for the situation with Ben. The man was always tactful, mild-mannered and obliging, but he was really pulling out all the stops as he directed Ben to a raised platform in the center of the floor, surrounded by mirrors on three sides, describing variations of coffee the whole way. Thannison rarely performed measurements himself, but he was already pulling a measuring tape out of the pouch he wore on his hip, eying the breadth of Ben’s shoulders critically. Behind him, there was the sound of the doors latching, ensuring the two of them wouldn’t be bothered until Ben was properly outfitted, and Hux watched as Ben stumbled up onto the platform.  

Squinting under the bright trio of overhead lights, Ben threw a helpless look back at Hux, his arms hugged tight around his sides and posture curved. They may have been Freesman Sporting Club’s only guests, but even the combination of Hux’ and Thannison’s full attention was enough to send Ben reeling, and again, Hux found himself thanking every power he knew that Thannison had been willing to oblige his request to close the shop on a Monday afternoon just before prime holiday shopping season. He’d owe the man after this one, he knew, and he didn’t mind one damn bit, the red finally fading from Ben’s nose to be replaced by a flush on his cheeks that had Hux smiling up at him with an undeniable fondness.

“Try the macchiato,” he chuckled when Ben shied away from Thannison’s measuring tape, which was already being drawn up his inseam. “It’s sweet enough you’ll like it even if you’re not a fan of coffee - almost like a dessert, except you don’t have to count it as one because it’s a beverage. Quite the trick, really.”  Hux took a sip of his own macchiato, licking foam off his lip appreciatively as Thannison read back the measurement from the tape. How he’d managed to get an accurate read with Ben squirming out of his reach like he had Hux didn’t know, but then again, Thannison hadn’t been made manager of one of the finest menswear shops in the city without reason.

Before Ben could open his mouth to reply, Thannison’s assistant had disappeared to procure a second macchiato, and Ben blinked owlishly at Hux, still half-blind in the unforgiving spotlights.

“You’ll like it - trust me,” Hux assured him, as Thannison wrapped the tape around his waist, eliciting a little yelp of surprise from Ben. Thannison tutted in the back of his throat at the measurement, tightening it further, but otherwise refused comment. Hux was glad - he’d warned Thannison when they’d spoken not to call attention to Ben’s weight, no matter how slight it seemed. It was something they were working on, and he doubted it would help to have Thannison point out what they were all well too aware of already.

“You’re a tall one, aren’t you?,” Thannison said when he’d finished, focusing on a safer topic with such finesse that Hux could have kissed him. “Handsome too.” He clapped Ben on the shoulder lightly. “Ben, you’re making this too easy on me. It’s my job to make you look good.  Tell me, how am I supposed to impress Hux here with my skills when it would be more work to find something that you _wouldn’t_ look good in?"

Hux suspected the comment was meant to help put Ben at ease, but he found he couldn’t disagree with the sentiment.

\---

Ben was so out of his depth right now that he couldn’t even start to think about it, lest he’d have an actual panic attack right then and there from how overwhelmed he felt. Sure, he knew that stores like this existed - he wasn’t an idiot - but he had never once in his 25 years of life come closer than passing by the windows on his way to somewhere where he could actually _afford_ the clothes. Usually dragged there by Leia, trying not to let his eyes linger too long on anything, just in case she decided to take it as another sign of his greedy, spoiled and ungrateful nature. He had been lectured by her in public quite a few times, and it still made him tear up just thinking about it. The humiliation never stopped feeling like a raw wound; there had never been time for it to even form a scab before the next stabbing pain came and tore it right open again.

And now… Now he wasn’t just on the other side of those windows - no, he was standing on some sort of platform, or podium or something, being poked and prodded at by a man dressed in a suit Ben was sure must have cost about half his yearly salary. They had helped him out of his jacket, had offered coffee, had talked to him like he was a person, like he somehow had the _right_ to be there, and it was just… too much to handle. But he had to handle it, because Mr Hux had apparently decided to buy him new clothes.  And judging by the way he spoke to the other man - Thannison, was it? - they weren’t just talking about a pair of pants and a shirt or two. No, Ben was slowly realizing he was walking out of here in a few hours, with an entire wardrobe’s worth of new clothes! If Ben had been worried about the catch, the joke, the punchline before, it was nothing compared to now. This couldn’t be real. It just _couldn’t_.

Mr Thannison had called him handsome. Ben wanted to snort at that, but his fear of coming off as rude kept him from it. He’d seen the numbers on that measuring tape, though they probably didn’t know that, and besides; he had eyes. He knew very well what he looked like. There were mirrors everywhere in here, and Ben kept his eyes glued to the floor as much as he could, so he wouldn’t have to look at himself. He wanted to tell them they didn’t have to lie to him. He was 25 years old, for fuck’s sake! He’d heard it all by now, and he agreed with probably more than half of it. Handsome? No. He was a scarecrow, with a face like one of those ugly sketches some street artists made for the tourists - all exaggerated and parodied features, meant to make people laugh and not in the good way - and all the scars, _the stupid, ugly scars_ , didn’t really help. They were trying to be nice, and he appreciated it, but he knew how ugly he was, and he’d learned long ago that if anyone called him handsome or attractive, there was usually a punchline waiting to hit him. No one ever said that to him and meant it. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to believe it; it was just that he _couldn’t_.

Then, to his complete and utter horror, he was supposed to try things on. Thankfully, Mr Thannison and Mr Hux had taken pity on him and stopped asking for his input after about the fifth ‘I don’t know’ he’d sputtered out when asked about favourite colours, preferred styles and so on. They actually seemed to realize that he genuinely _didn’t_ know anything about it, and Mr Hux luckily picked up on his embarrassment rather quickly - and after that, they picked out whatever they thought would look good on him, and only asked whether or not he liked that _particular_ garment. It was easier that way, even if it was difficult still to actually dare say no to some of the things they showed him. But Mr Hux’ proud smile and gently encouraging nods whenever he expressed an opinion really helped.

But the trying on part… Ben had nearly walked right out of the shop. He usually got dressed without looking in the mirror, or turning the lights on, until he was fully clothed. Stepping into a dressing room - with bright lights and mirrors everywhere - along with another person? He’d felt the panic coming on, and in the end, Mr Hux had saved him - again - by helping him over to a couple of comfortable chairs, and talking soothingly to him for a good fifteen minutes before he could bear the thought of going anywhere near the dressing room. Mr Thannison hadn’t even so much as raised an eyebrow at his reactions, and Ben suspected Mr Hux had warned him about his general awkwardness, because people weren’t generally this accepting of him. While he waited, the man had simply gone through the racks one more time, and started putting garments together in different combinations, as if to try and see what would go together. Ben guessed he didn’t really need to do that, but did it just to give Ben time.

They tried some more casual looking things first, and Ben struggled to comprehend the fact that there were apparently clothes in this world that actually fit him - and fit him well. These shirts and slacks, and a few jackets, that he tried on did things to his figure that he’d previously never really thought possible. He looked less like a skeleton, and more… well, he still looked very slim, but by some magic, he didn’t actually look half bad - which, if he was honest with himself, was probably as close to good looking he’d ever get. Then Thannison brought out the rest of the stuff he’d picked out, assumingly when Ben wasn’t looking, and it sent Ben reeling again.

“Forgive me my vanity,” Thannison said with a little smile. “But you’ve hardly given me a chance to exercise my eye for fashion - and with features as striking as yours, as well as your height and bone structure, it would be a sin to let you leave here without one of our suits. Might I suggest something like this?” His assistant handed over the first hangers, with garments in a beautiful deep navy colour. “You see, Ben, a properly fitted three piece suit is the mark of a man of class and good taste - and I see far too many young men waste their money and figures on poorly fitted slacks and jackets. While I maintain that I’m certain you’d look more than adequate in anything I put you in, I will not let the opportunity to dress you in something that truly flatters you pass me by. Give it a try and you’ll see what I mean - there’ll be no getting you out of it.” He turned to his assistant. “Hand me that shirt please, and the tie right next to it.”

Once Ben had put everything on, and Thannison had made sure everything sat right on him, he forced himself to look in the mirror - and then he simply stood there, frozen and staring, for at least a few minutes before he could say anything. He’d always liked three piece suits, always thought they looked so nice, so elegant and sophisticated - but it hadn’t ever crossed his mind that they would look good on _him_ , because he knew that nothing really looked good on him. Except… except that this suit did. Sure, it would have looked much better had he had a bit more weight on him - a thought he put a stop to right away; weight was not a good thing, he’d get fat and then he’d be even uglier - but even now, it made him look like… like someone who might actually be friends with someone like Mr Hux. Like someone who might be his assistant or something - a person, not a… a _creature._ Sure, a part of him still felt awkward, as if these clothes were a costume, a disguise, he figured it might simply be that he just wasn’t used to it. While he’d been wearing the whole shirt-and-slacks style for a few years now, he’d never actually worn clothes that fit - Leia had always complained about his body shape, his height, his weight on the few occasions since his early teens when he’d actually been a normal weight. She’d sighed and complained about his skin, his hair, and how none of the colours she wanted him in seemed to suit him - and then in the end bought them anyway, because ‘it wasn’t as if he could look worse.’  These clothes, though, were on a whole different level, and Ben thought it was simply a matter of him learning to think of them as simply his clothes rather than garments of a quality and price he had no right to even think about wearing.

Thannison gently turned him around, and cleared his throat to get Mr Hux’ attention. The man had been temporarily engrossed in what seemed to be a rather angry response to a message, if the frown and forceful typing was anything to go by. His posture was rigid, tense, his jaw set, and Ben wasn’t so sure it was a good idea to interrupt him right now. That was not a good posture. Bad things could come from people looking like that. But then Thannison cleared his throat again, and Mr Hux looked up - and a million different things seemed to happen to his face at once - and Ben couldn’t even begin to decipher them, much to his dismay. He needed to at least get a hint of what was going on in his mind - it made him feel pathetic, but Mr Hux was currently the only thing grounding him and keeping him from panicking. If he was angry or displeased, Ben had nothing to hold onto.

“Oh yes, I’d say this one was made for the boy,” Thannison beamed. “What do you say, Hux?  You can’t tell me you’ll take him home without it.”

“I... ” Mr Hux seemed a bit lost for words, and Ben hoped it was a good thing. “Yes. It’s perfect. Just… perfect. I couldn’t have asked for better. Truly, Thannison, you’ve outdone yourself.” He looked at Ben and smiled. “How do you feel, Ben? Do you like it? More importantly, do you _want_ it?”

Ben nodded before he could stop himself. It still felt wrong to let this man, his boss, just sit there and watch all these super fucking expensive clothes be neatly folded and packed into bags for them. Ben didn’t want to know what the final sum would be - if he did, he’d probably try to get them to take half of it back, and then he’d just end up insulting and possibly hurting Mr Hux’ feelings.

“I… uhm, it’s really nice,” Ben managed, feeling like he should probably say _something_. “It’s very comfortable too. And I, uhm, I like the colour.”

“Then consider it yours. You heard the boy, Thannison - wrap it up,” Mr Hux said, gesturing with a finger. “But I’m sure that’s not all you have your sleeve. Let’s see the lot of it - I’ve got a lot of money that needs spending today. If not here, it’ll go somewhere else, so I’d advise you not to hold back.”

When those four hours were up, Ben had had three macchiatos, five lesser bouts of panic, several moments of pure ‘oh shit, this is actually happening’ - and then Mr Hux helped him into his new jacket, paid for what ended up being quite literally a full wardrobe worth of clothes, and got Ben into the car while they got all the bags in so he wouldn’t have to stand outside in the cold. Ben was so overwhelmed he was bordering on completely numbed out - his brain absolutely refused to process the events of this entire afternoon, and he really wanted to go back to Mr Hux’ apartment, curl up under his comforter with Millie on his lap, and Mr Hux next to him on the couch. He wanted tea, and, quite possibly also dinner - provided it wasn’t something heavy.

The driver mentioned that they were starting to get the tree up at Rockefeller Center, and that it looked promising, and Ben couldn’t help but light up at that. His grandma had taken him with her there when he was little to look at the tree - to really get into the holiday spirit. It was one of the few good memories he had of his childhood: her wrinkly hands holding onto his small ones, as they pointed out things they saw and liked, and how afterwards she always took him to a cozy little café where he got a large mug of hot chocolate and a brownie. He wondered how life would have been for him if she hadn’t died before he got sick. That treacherous, rebellious part of his mind said she’d have taken him in and gotten him proper help - but he refused to listen to it. He couldn’t afford the whole ‘what if’ train of thought.

Mr Hux must have seen the change in his expression, because he told the driver that they should drive by so they could all have a better look at it.

\----

“They’re preparing the tree at Rockefeller Center? Already?” Hux wrapped an arm around Ben’s shoulders, jostling him lightly. “Best go have a look at it then. See what they’ve come up with this time.” He tried to say the words as nonchalantly as possible, but his driver turned to look at him as if he’d suggested driving straight off a cliff all the same.

“You sure?”

“Yes, I’m bloody well sure,” Hux snapped, ignoring the fact that there was no need for him to go out of his way to see the tree. Though this would be the first time he saw it this year, it certainly wouldn’t be the last; each December, he lost count of the times he watched hoards of tourists gather in front of the skating rink, all cameras flashing and multi-colored knit hats and fanny packs attached around their waists. Hux never been one for ice skating - whether he had the skill was irrelevant when he never had the time  - and he’d lived in New York for almost his entire life. Long enough to know there was only one place you avoided as much as Central Park in the springtime, and that was Rockefeller Center around Christmas.

But it was early in the season still, he told himself - early enough that the skating rink, if it was even frozen over yet, was likely to be mostly deserted. So what if Ben wanted to see it?  It was an easy enough request to fulfill, and it was so rare that Ben really wanted anything - it was like pulling teeth to get the boy to admit to wanting a second helping of miso soup. Trying to gather which garments he’d preferred had been a feat for which only Thannison’s skill was matched. And yet the look of longing on Ben’s face at the mention of that damned tree had been unmistakable. How could he say no?

The heat pumping through the vents of the town car had Hux feeling drowsy and at ease, Ben’s head coming to rest on his shoulder as they made their way through the bustling streets.  Through all the honking and ruckus that came with navigating downtown Manhattan at rush hour, Hux remained quiet. If it had been a long day for him, it had been longer still for Ben. At the end of the outing, when Thannison had asked him how he’d like to cover the balance and he’d instructed the man to bill it to his account as per usual, Ben had looked like he might faint on the spot. He’d been forced to waive away the invoice without looking at the total. If Ben had seen it, Hux was certain he’d have ended up carrying him out of there. And while he wouldn’t have minded, he didn’t want to subject his knees to the treatment twice in two days.

Ben looked warmer than he had entering the shop, now that he wore a silk-lined jacket trimmed to fit his slim waist, as well as a pair of green mittens Hux had picked up for him on the way out. He’d retained Hux’ plum-colored scarf however, and it was pulled almost up to his red-tinged ears as Hux pointed out the window to his right.  

“It’s something of a New York rite of passage, isn’t it - taking in the tree at Rockefeller Center this time of year?” he commented, looking overtop of Ben’s head. Outside the window, the tree had not yet been completely decorated. It stood so tall that it fit only because it was surrounded by buildings that scraped the sky on all sides, but it was missing the star from the top, and garland had been strung around only half of it, the top portion bare except for a smattering of oversized ornaments. Already the visitors had started pouring in; what appeared to be a school group stood on a set of concrete steps, either taking a photo or preparing to sing, Hux couldn’t tell. “We’ll never escape it, you know - every Christmas, from now until eternity, we’ll be forced to deal with all manner of people - from Vermont, Philadelphia, _New Jersey -”_ He shuddered. “Invading our city, just for a glimpse of this tree, as if it’s this very thing that makes the season what it is. Someone should tell them: it’s here every year. There’s no reason to rush.”

But even as he said it, he could see the glow of contentment wash over Ben’s face. The days were getting shorter now, the sun just setting into early evening and the lights of the city coming alive behind. It wasn’t something he’d especially appreciated before - for all the terrible drivers in New York during the day, nighttime seemed to bring them out in tenfold - but there was something about the way the gaudy red lights strung around one of the nearby office windows caught on Ben’s reflection that made Hux bite his tongue on any further commentary he might have offered.

Hux’ own shoulder moved with it when Ben shrugged.  

“It could be worse.”

It was true, Hux knew. There were a thousand worse places he could be than here, in his town car, enough warm air flowing through the vents that he’d have to shed his own scarf soon, with a boy he’d met only a handful of days ago by his side. New York, it was said, was the city of dreams. Hell, there were songs about the place, and it was here that all of Hux’ had come true, if only through his own determination. In a few weeks, this part of town would be insufferable, the reason he’d be late to the office if he took the wrong route to work - but today, he’d had the pleasure of seeing Ben leave Thannison’s dressing room in a pair of slacks that hugged his hips so sweetly that Hux hadn’t been able to remember the last time he’d looked at a man before that, and traffic was still manageable enough that his driver was able to navigate the streets without a single curse, and he hadn’t had to avoid a call from his father for at least two years now.

Hux rarely allowed himself to accept things for what they were - it was his job, after all, to see things for what they could be, for what he could _make_ them, if given the opportunity - but maybe, just this once, just for tonight, with the lights of a police vehicle used to redirect traffic bouncing off the passenger side window, he could make an exception.

Ben turned his head so his cheek was pillowed on Hux’s shoulder, and when Hux looked at him, dark eyes wide and appreciative, the bruising there starting to fade to an off-green that Hux was willing to bet would be gone by the end of the week, he thought Ben might even have been happy, or something like it.

Hux hummed and adjusted the dial in front of him until the swell of Bing Crosby’s voice filled the backseat, leaning his head back against leather that still smelled new and closing his eyes with the welcome weight of Ben’s head resting over his collarbone.

“I suppose it could.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eight chapters in and we're finally getting somewhere, right? We have a lot in store for our boys in the coming chapters - we hope you keep hanging in there with them and with us throughout! You can always hit either of us up on tumblr in the meantime! Loke is, as always, ficlet-machine, and Cat is thegoodlannister.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, no explicit trigger warnings this chapter. There are, however, brief mentions of drug abuse/overdose, so proceed with caution if you find such topics upsetting.

Looking back, Hux would remember the next two weeks as some of the most singularly strange and enchanting of his life.  Thanksgiving was approaching and, perhaps for the first time, he found himself compelled to consider those things for which he was grateful.  It was nothing he would ever have said aloud, but there were so many small things - trivial, really - that he’d never taken the time to think over, but that suddenly, upon reflection, seemed precious.  He and Phasma were still at odds over the situation with Ben, of course, but that was nothing new.  The times when there wasn’t something chafing between them were rare enough; this was just another bump on the rocky path of their friendship, and their bond remained something he couldn’t have done without all the same.  There was no one else who would have answered his frequent texts, asking what Ben’s sometimes odd behavior meant, especially when Hux was sure she didn’t approve of Hux keeping him in his apartment in the first place.  And yet she did, answering promptly whenever he asked her what such and such turn of his features might have meant, her exasperated disapproval palpable even through text.

It was more comical than anything, really, the way she managed to dote on Ben while giving Hux the cold shoulder, and for every twinge of genuine annoyance he felt, he had to hold back laughter at the displeasure she was willing to vocalize in front of Ben only through the set of her shoulders or the sharpness of her gaze when she turned it in Hux’ direction.

He valued Phasma’s friendship - couldn’t say why it had taken him this long to realize just how much - and in those weeks, he took her to lunch more often than ever, always footing the bill without argument.  She would have said it was to worm his way back into her good graces, and that wouldn’t have been without some merit - but more than that, he wanted her to know what she meant to him.  (Which was so sentimental that he couldn’t help but think back on the morning she’d accused him of replacing the Hux she had known, the one who had pushed her out of the backseat of his vehicle to avoid her getting sick in it, with a stranger.)

That was to say nothing of the state of his firm, which - even in the wake ‘the scandal’ - was flourishing like it never had before.  Five years in, and Imperial Marketing’s reputation had taken off in ways he had never imagined, the spread featured in _Esquire_ serving only to increase the number of consult requests that crossed his desk every morning.  He’d been right; his story was front-page material, and he’d been unsurprised to walk into his office one morning to discover his own face looking back at him from the cover.  Someone had placed it there to greet him - either Phasma or Mitaka, he was willing to bet - and the photo chosen for the cover was one he hadn’t seen when the photographer had gone through the photo reel with him.  It was a candid, one he didn’t know she had taken at all - he was in profile, standing in front of the expansive window in the late autumn sun, nearly winter now, and he was smiling.  Not a forced smile, but one that opened his mouth a little.  He must have been laughing in response to something Edwards had said, and Hux had to admit, it looked good on him.

_Esquire_ ’s readers must have agreed, this more human side of Hux drawing more interest to Imperial Marketing than his enigmatic persona ever had.  With the increased call for their representation, his work - his _firm_ \- demanded his attention more than ever, and yet Hux had never spent so little time behind his desk.  Each morning, he went into work a little later than the day before - by only a few minutes, but they were beginning to add up - and each evening, he found himself getting up from his high-backed chair and stretching a little earlier.  Hux blamed it on the shorter days - daylight savings time had always been a bastard - but he suspected anyone who knew him well enough could easily have picked up on the truth.  

(Thank goodness for him, then, that hardly anyone knew him at all.)

Ben was waiting for him at home, everyday.  (And he wasn’t sure when he’d started thinking of the place as something other than “his apartment” or “the penthouse,” but that was always a thought for another time.)  After a few days, Ben had been well enough to fend for himself when left alone for the workday, but it was tempting to dip out of work early to check on him.  If Ben really needed him, Hux told himself, he had the tablet - he was only the press of an icon away - but the excuse was a convenient one, one that he was able to hold onto until Ben’s stitches were removed.

Not that Hux needed an excuse to do whatever he damn well pleased - it was his firm, after all, and if he decided that much of the work he had previously done in his office could be completed just as easily from the comfort of his home, who was going to question him?  Who except Phasma, of course, who hardly had a leg to stand on when she ended up sharing dinner with Hux and Ben gathered around his kitchen counter - because Hux had learned early on that meals were easier for Ben when they were held in informal places, rather than at dining tables, where eating was required - so often now that it was becoming habit.

Many things were becoming habit, Hux had realized somewhere along the way - from waking up inches from Ben’s face, though the bed was large enough to fit another two people, easily, and Hux had rarely ever moved from his side before, to calling Ben on his way home from the office, waiting for him to pick up the tablet and listening to his fumbling as he never seemed to realize he’d answered right away.  He’d taken to using the stairs rather than the elevator, and each afternoon, while making his way toward the lobby, Hux heard Ben cursing to himself once the tablet was in hand, shuffling as he tried to situate it closer to ear, though it didn’t need to be in order to pick up on his voice - and each afternoon, Hux smiled to himself over the display a little more, warmth growing in his chest as he came to know the exact number of rings it would take before Ben would pick up.

Even taking the stairs, the walk to where his driver picked him up across the street from Imperial Marketing seemed shorter than ever before, the accompanying sound of Ben’s voice - with all its fits and starts, all its dips, the strange emphasis he put on words Hux would never have emphasized - a pleasant distraction.  Perhaps he was walking more quickly, his newly increased energy changing the pace of his steps.  He was sleeping better than he ever had, getting into bed when Ben did, even if he didn’t sleep right away.  Ben’s medications meant he dropped off quickly, and Hux had realized that he fought against it if he wasn’t there with him.  Since Ben needed all the rest he could get, it hadn’t taken long for Hux to come up with ways he could complete the last of the day’s paperwork propped up in bed as efficiently as he would have anywhere else.  Often, Ben would leave one of those crime documentaries he liked so much playing in the background, looking at Hux across the pillows and interjecting here and there with little comments that either had Hux humming in agreement or suppressing laughter at their cheekiness.

It was always Hux who reached across Ben to flick the light off when he was tired enough for sleep as well, but it was always Ben who jolted awake first at sound of Hux’ alarm from his phone.  He gave Hux a run for his money in the tea-drinking apartment, and though the medication made it difficult for him to rouse himself, whenever he could manage it, he was up and in the kitchen by the time Hux made his way out of the shower, still towel-drying his hair.  Hux had never before had time to fix himself a cup of tea before making his way out the door, but now he was becoming dependent on it to get him through until Mitaka made his first trip to Starbucks of the day.

Ben had taken a liking to Beru right away; Hux had told him to make use of her to keep the apartment from becoming too quiet whenever he was home alone, and while Ben had seemed hesitant at first, it had taken him far less time than it had Hux to understand her workings.  The home entertainment system recognized and responded to Ben’s voice just as quickly as she did to Hux’ now, and when Hux arrived home from office, the music no longer switched to one of his favorite composers without him having to ask for it.  While Beru still recognized his arrival, Ben usually had something playing already by the time Hux walked through the door - sometimes a symphony Hux would have chosen for himself, humming along as he sat at the counter, his fingers tapping a beat with the percussion section, sometimes music Hux had never heard.  

The music Ben liked to listen to was… well, it wasn’t something Hux would have chosen for himself.  He preferred music he could work easily to; the lyrics were unimportant as long as the sound of it was soothing, and even growing up, he couldn’t recall listening to the radio, instead preferring to purchase recordings that had been taken of his favorite orchestras.  Ben, on the other hand, appeared to _live_ for a well-written lyric.  More than once, he’d looked up from the papers he stole to doodle on, pencil held awkwardly between fingers that were still stiff from injury, and asked Hux if he’d heard what Beru had just played and wasn’t it just _beautiful -_ didn’t it just make everything make sense, just for a moment?

A quick google search had told him Ben’s favorite bands belonged to something called the “gothic rock movement,” and the first time Ben had asked if listening to that was okay or if he should find something Hux enjoyed more, Hux had forced himself to listen to it for the rest of the evening, just so Ben wouldn’t doubt that he didn’t mind.

It turned out that, once he got used to working with the sound of voices in the background, it wasn’t half so bad as he’d imagined it would be - either that, or his ears were just getting used to the abuse, and somehow, it didn’t matter much to Hux either way.

If Ben had taken a quick liking to Beru, his friendship with Millicent had been nothing short of instantaneous.  From the first night she’d curled up on Ben’s lap and batted at his finger, she had become his constant companion throughout the apartment.  When Ben went into the kitchen, Millicent followed; when his medications didn’t set well with him, and it was difficult for him to leave the bed, it was there Millicent could be found, purring quietly on Ben’s chest if he could stand it or lying next to his head on what had once been Hux’ pillow if he couldn’t.  Millicent had never slept with Hux before this - had preferred to prowl around the apartment while Hux slept, chasing invisible mice and waking him up with mysterious crashes from darkened rooms -  but now he often rolled over onto her in the night, sending her running from the bed with an offended yowl.  As if it wasn’t _his_ damned bed in the first place.

It was all frighteningly domestic, all of Ben’s quirks so readily fitting into Hux’ life that he struggled to remember the way things were before he had been there.  That wasn’t to say it was always easy - Ben was still fragile, his stomach touchy and his emotions touchier, and Hux’ penchant for spicy and obscure foods paid the price for it.  The Indian place he usually ordered from on Friday nights had gone as far as to call him the week before to inquire if he was well and if he needed them to drop off their menu again, it had been so long since they’d heard from him.  It had been difficult to say no, but he knew learning the foods Ben could and couldn’t handle was trial and error; he’d spent more than a few nights awake with Ben, nursing a stomach ache after they’d tried something that _didn’t_ work.  Any explorations of curry would have to wait a little longer.

The good days outweighed the bad, Hux thought - when he looked at Ben, he saw no trace of the violent person who had wreaked such havoc on his administrative department.  The glass had been repaired and the wreckage cleared out within the week, the purchase of new computers - complete with imaging software even more up-to-date than the previous models - hardly worth a second thought for Hux, and with the bandages now removed from Ben’s arm and his face finally healed from the bruising, it was easy to pretend that it had all happened to someone else entirely.  That he had met Ben some other way, and even on the days that Ben was ill or especially quiet, Hux preferred the boy’s company to his own.

Ben sketched almost constantly - he was creative, Hux thought, not destructive - often leaving smudges of pencil on his nose from when he rubbed at it, smudges Hux would have been quicker to tell him about, had he not found them so amusing.  There were few pastimes Hux liked more than watching him.  When Ben wasn’t up to talking, Hux would pour himself a glass of wine and curl up next to him on the sofa, watching the motions of Ben’s pencil as it flew across whatever he’d chosen as his medium that day - just as often a cocktail napkin or takeout menu as a sheet of paper from the printer in Hux’ home office.  When he tired of that, he’d take to watching Ben’s face instead, his nose scrunched up in concentration and his tongue poking out from between his lips whenever he flipped the pencil upside-down to erase a line he didn’t particularly like.  It was only when he was drawing that Ben seemed not to be aware of being watched - that he wasn’t ashamed of the openness of his face, always careful to keep it in profile - and it gave Hux the opportunity to look freely.  To look his fill - if he had one.  

He hadn’t come upon it yet.

Hux had once thought that Ben wasn’t his type at all, but as Thanksgiving came and went - spent alone, just the two of them, Ben looking down on the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade on the street below the only concession they made to the day - Hux came to the conclusion that there were a lot of things he hadn’t known about himself.

He’d take him next year, he thought, when Ben was feeling well enough to withstand the briskness of the air for three hours on a morning in late November - and as they shared a pint of sticky rice from the only Chinese takeout place that remained open on Thanksgiving Day, Hux refused to acknowledge the little voice that told him Ben wouldn’t be here this time next year, that he was not Hux’ to keep.  

It sounded suspiciously like Phasma, and he heard enough of her warnings that he didn’t need them playing inside his head too.

\---

After that first Monday, when Mr Hux had taken him shopping for clothes - and he’d ended up snoozing _with his head on the man’s shoulder_ as if that was something normal - Ben had just decided that for the sake of what was left of his sanity it was better to just not question _anything_ that happened from that point on. Everything was just too surreal, too much fairy tale, too beautiful and soft and peaceful, and Ben knew better than to think even for a moment that this would last. He stopped believing in fairy tales before he started elementary school, and nothing in his life up until this point had given him any reason to start again. Dreams and fantasies were for children, for other people, for anyone who wasn’t Ben Solo - because Ben Solo didn’t deserve to have them.

But hope was a stubborn bitch, and Ben wanted this to be real more than he could remember wanting anything in his life.

Living with Mr Hux was something of an adventure in its own right, though, and despite telling himself not to get too used to it, he found himself feeling for what was perhaps the first time in his life like he actually found a place where he fit in. Or, well, at least fit in better than he usually did. He still felt awkward and out of place, and he’d set a rule for himself only to ask one stupid question per day - just to make sure he didn’t annoy Mr Hux more than what could be fixed by an apology or four. But at the end of the day - and for reasons Ben was _not_ going to even think about thinking about - being here with Mr Hux and Millie felt safe, like he could actually breathe, take up space, and exist as a person.  

They’d settled into a routine fairly quickly, and Ben had to admit that it helped him a ton just knowing he had some sort of framework to cling to. Mr Hux, it turned out, was a creature of habit. Apparently, he wasn’t any more fond of mornings than Ben was, but he still set his alarm for the same time every day, and as soon as he was out of bed, he’d head for the shower with a focus like a target seeking missile. The alarm woke Ben up too, with its absolutely ridiculously loud and shrill tone, and the adrenaline rush was a pretty efficient way to get himself out of bed before noon - and since tea was something he could actually make with his left hand, he tried to make himself useful by working out how to make it the way Mr Hux liked it. So far, it seemed to work well. Mr Hux wasn’t overly talkative in the mornings, which was fine, because neither was Ben. It took a few hours for him to get that weird cotton feeling out of his head so he could actually form a coherent sentence. Once Mr Hux had left for work, Ben forced himself to eat his daily cup of yoghurt - of which Ben was sure Mr Hux had bought enough to keep him fed for a year - and then take his meds before napping. Around lunch, Mr Hux would call to check in on him, and Ben was equally embarrassed every day, because he was usually asleep and thus not perhaps in his most intelligent state when he answered the call - but Mr Hux didn’t seem to mind. He seemed genuinely happy to talk to a half asleep Ben, quickly learning how to decipher his mumbling and half finished sentences, never mocking him for when he lost words here and there or forgot what he was going to say. Their conversations revolved mostly around how Ben was feeling, and if Mr Hux’ plan for dinner sounded like something that might agree with his stomach. Then Ben had another few hours to himself, and he usually spent them napping, cuddling with Millicent while watching TV, or just sitting in one of the armchairs by Mr Hux’ giant piano and watching the city. He had visions of the glass falling out, of the building suddenly collapsing, and all kinds of weird, disastrous scenarios playing through his head, but still he couldn’t stop looking. He’d never seen a view quite like this, and even though it felt weird - like if he was in some other world - he actually liked it.

There had been that awkward incident with the lady who, apparently, came around once a month to clean the place. It was sheer luck that Ben had finished changing from his sleep wear into what was quickly becoming his favourite pair of pants and a shirt, because the lady had simply barged into the bedroom like she owned the place, then almost had a heart attack when there was a person there; cursing to high heavens while clutching at her heart and very nearly slapping him - and all of that, Ben could handle. He’d apologized for scaring her, cautiously asked who she was, then apologized again for being in the way when she was working and asked if he could help her with anything. But then she’d taken one look at his arm and shooed him off to the couch, saying that he was a sweetheart for offering, but it would probably not be a good idea for ‘Mr Hux’ boy’ to further injure himself by helping the cleaning lady. She’d accompanied that phrase - _Mr Hux’ boy_ \- with a look, and a very specific tone of voice, that told Ben that she sure as heck didn’t mean ‘boy’ as in ‘son.’  He’d turned bright red, sputtering out that it wasn’t like that _at all_ \- she mustn’t think that about Mr Hux, but her smile made it perfectly clear that he wasn’t very convincing.

The worst part was, Ben mused after she’d left - after having given him some advice on ‘caring for men like Mr Hux’ that had caused him to nearly jump out the window to escape - that he knew full well that that had to be what it looked like to everyone else. Hell, he wouldn’t be surprised if even Phasma thought they were… _doing things_ \- that they were most certainly _not_ doing, thank you very much - and that was why he was still here. Ben wasn’t half as stupid or innocent as people generally thought he was - he knew what it usually meant when young guys lived in older men’s penthouses, sharing their bed and food, and only leaving the house in the company of said older men. He knew he should be extremely offended, both for himself, but also on Mr Hux’ behalf. He should feel bad, should feel ashamed of the implications that he was some sort of… person whose favours could be bought in exchange for some kind words and a fancy credit card. The thing was, though, that he really didn’t. The label implicated belonging, and Ben was far more okay with belonging to Mr Hux’ life than he was comfortable thinking about at the moment.

He’d never mentioned the incident to Mr Hux. To his relief, neither had the cleaning lady.

As soon as Mr Hux came home from work in the afternoons, they had dinner, and then the older man would help him change the dressings on his wounds. It never stopped being equally weird and funny to Ben how Mr Hux was the epitome of control and confidence in every single area of life - as long as it didn’t involve caring for someone’s health. When he was on the phone with his subordinates, with clients - even with the local Italian place or Phasma - he radiated an aura of such natural confidence and authority it had Ben feeling all kinds of strange things. He wondered what it was like to be able to occupy space like Mr Hux did - the way the entire world just seemed to bend to his will, as if it was the most natural, logical thing in the world - like he never doubted for a second that he had a right to be exactly where he was at any given time. He was so regal, so incredibly refined that Ben seriously wondered sometimes how he was even real. 

But when he was helping Ben with his wounds, helping him toweldry his hair, trying to find food or snacks that would be good for Ben - or just generally make him a little happy, he was even more awkward than Ben was. And _that_ , Ben knew, was not an easy thing to manage. It was ridiculous how bad he was at some things, but it helped. Ben felt so bad, but it helped him so much to actually be the one who _knew_ things for once. Thankfully, Mr Hux seemed to be as amused by his own ignorance as he was embarrassed, and he never scolded or got annoyed with Ben when he couldn’t stop himself from poking fun at him. The first time Ben had done that, he’d panicked and actually frozen in place - just waiting for the harsh words, the impact, something - and he hadn’t known quite what to do with himself when Mr Hux had looked stunned for a moment, then thrown his head back and laughed so loudly it had echoed through the apartment.

He had a very nice laugh, Ben thought. It made him happy to have made Mr Hux happy. He allowed himself to have at least that.

He’d noticed other things as well. When Mr Hux was tired or annoyed, his accent became much more prominent, and Ben really liked it. Sometimes, when he was thinking about some detail or other while working through the massive amounts of paperwork that seemed to follow him everywhere, Mr Hux would hum along to the classical music he usually played. While it was obvious Ben’s music wasn’t really his thing, Mr Hux seemed pretty okay with listening to it if Ben wasn’t quite ready to turn it off yet. He’d never told him to turn it down, or to change - but he did look a bit confused sometimes when he picked up a line of lyrics or other. Ben didn’t blame him - _Sisters_ and _Cure_ were his two most played bands, and their lyrics didn’t always make sense if you weren’t used to listening to them. Besides, he liked that little crinkle that would turn up between his eyebrows, the way he’d purse his lips as he walked away to continue doing whatever it was he was doing.

They touched a lot. That should have freaked Ben out, given how much he usually hated having people anywhere near him, but with Mr Hux it just felt… _natural_ , safe, comforting. At least when they were both awake. Mr Hux hadn’t lied when he’d said he trashed about a bit in his sleep. ‘A bit’ didn’t exactly cover it; it was like sleeping next to a whirlwind, and it woke Ben up occasionally, but he didn’t mind half as much as he thought he would - because Mr Hux also talked in his sleep. Little semi-audible mutterings, sometimes just a word, sometimes what seemed like his half of a conversation. Mostly, it appeared, he was nagging his subordinates about getting the coffee machines to work - and while it was a little weird, it also made Ben feel a lot less awkward about his own sleeping habits. He wondered if Mr Hux was aware he was doing it.

Though he had come to hate all the white walls in here - they reminded him too much of the hallways at the psych wards he’d been forced to spend time in - the light in this apartment was spectacular, and he had that familiar itch again; a need, an ache in his hands to put pen to paper and create stuff. It was really fucking difficult with his hand all wrapped up, but somehow he managed, and since then he was doodling on any piece of paper he could get his hands on. Mr Hux seemed to have noticed, as little stacks of papers from the printer in his office, (somewhere in the penthouse, there was an actual office, and Ben was sure he’d get lost and find Narnia if he tried to go looking for it), had started appearing on the kitchen counter, along with a graphite pen and eraser. Once Ben had finally gotten rid of the stitches and annoying bandages, he’d started sketching more and more, until he spent most of his time either on the couch or in that armchair with a pen in hand and a piece of paper taped to an old wooden tray placed in his lap. He couldn’t stop it. Drawing, painting, creating… it felt like breathing, like the rest of the world was someone else’s problem, like he was safe. Like life made sense.

Sure, he wasn’t all that great - hardly even a fraction as good as his grandfather had been - but at least one could tell what it was supposed to be. Mr Hux didn’t seem to mind that he wasn’t very talkative while drawing, didn’t try to fill the silence, didn’t try to get him to do something ‘more productive’, didn’t criticize - didn’t even try to look at the drawings. If Ben left them somewhere - face down, always - Mr Hux left them alone. On the few occasions Mr Hux did see them, he just smiled, a quirk of his lips that looked… impressed?

Phasma came over a lot, and he found himself liking her more and more. There was obviously some sort of strain between her and Hux, but she refused outright to tell if it had anything to do with him. It was weird to him how they could be obviously disagreeing on something big and important, but still have fun together. Was this how it was for other people? Was this something that was normal? When Han and Leia disagreed on something, Han would be sleeping on the couch, or in the guest bedroom for a while - their dinners icy and silent, and their patience with Ben even thinner than usual. It was usually during rows like that that Ben could expect a slap to the face for speaking out even from her. Leia would normally only use words - they were more than deadly enough - but Ben had learned to read the lines of her face, the tension in her arms, the little stiffness to the movements of her hands as she folded sheets or stirred gravy. He knew when he had to pretend to be a robot - to exist only when they told him to, speak only when spoken to, manage his tone, keep his bed made and his clothes off the floor, not leave the house a second longer than he had permission to, and not _ever_ state an opinion of his own.

But Mr Hux and Phasma played by some other rules. When he went quiet and withdrawn, they’d abandon whatever argument they were wrapped up in, cracking jokes and trying to reassure him that no one was angry with him, and that he had nothing to fear - even if their tones got snarky and loud sometimes. Ben knew they knew something must have happened in his past to make him this way - they were smart people - but he was thankful for the fact that they refrained from asking, at least for now. The questions would come - they always did, and he knew that once Mr Hux realized just how much of a wreck Ben really was, this would all come to an end faster than he could say ‘homeless’. No one wanted the reality of living with someone with Ben’s problems. Once they realized they couldn’t cure him, that this was just _how he was_ , that it could still be all kinds of worse than it was now, they would head for the hills and leave him behind.

As Thanksgiving had come and gone - just the two of them, and some really nice take out - Ben realized that he really didn’t want this to end. He wanted to stay here, in his little bubble, with Millie, and the view, and Mr Hux’ endless patience, forever. He’d give _anything_ to have that. But that just wasn’t how life worked, and Ben knew that he was probably already living here on borrowed time, so he tried to put all of those thoughts as far back into his mind as he could. Because he was Ben Solo, and there was one thing he knew, it was that the second Ben solo wanted anything - the moment Ben Solo truly wished and prayed and hoped for something - the universe would without fail do everything in its power to have it taken away from him.

You had to be a person to be worthy of having things, of wanting things. Ben wasn’t a person, he was just a walking mistake. Sooner or later, Mr Hux would realize that, too.

But for now, Ben couldn’t bring himself to stop wishing for things he knew he’d never have.

\---

It was almost 8pm.

Hux couldn’t remember the last time he had left the office so late. Just when he had gotten used to being outside the doors and well on his way home by the time the sun had started to set, he had been met with one of his most frustrating days in recent memory. Normally, Hux not only welcomed challenging clients; he lived for them. His desire to surprise the unsurprisable, make an impression on the unimpressible, had motivated him for as long as he had been in the industry - but, he thought, rubbing at the ache growing between his eyes and chastising himself for squinting when he knew it was only going to make worse the wrinkles already forming there, this was too much, even for him. As he slid into the backseat of his town car, giving his driver a look that he hoped conveyed just how little he wanted to talk about it, he pulled his phone from his pocket and held it close to his face.

_"Call Ben,”_ he instructed, his voice short even with the electronic, as if it was personally responsible for his frustration.  Hux had been in meetings for the better part of four hours, and he still wasn’t sure what in the hell his client expected of him. The director of Manhattan’s newest - and in his opinion, most likely to fail miserably before the end of the year - interior design institute had talked herself in circles for so long that by the end of it, Hux’ head had been spinning, and he was no closer to understanding her vision for her company than he had been before they began.

He’d run out of coffee an hour and a half in, and he hadn’t had time to do more than shoot a text off to the tablet that had become Ben’s under the table, telling him not to expect him home until later and not to worry. To find something to snack on in the refrigerator if he couldn’t hold off on eating until Hux made it home - he had a stockpile of the little yogurt cups Ben liked, as well as some pudding and crackers that he knew were easy on Ben’s stomach, no matter what state it was in.

Ben hadn’t answered, which meant that either he was caught up in drawing or - more worryingly - he had fallen back to sleep. Ben never napped this late into the evening unless he wasn’t feeling well, and that thought had gnawed unpleasantly at the back of his mind until he’d finally been able to excuse himself. He’d practically had to slam his laptop closed on the girl’s fingers - her name was Jessika, and Hux would eat his nonexistent hat if she was a day over 20 or if the money for her endeavor had come from anywhere but her father’s pocketbook - in order to get her to stop talking. Agreeing that they’d meet again the next week for further discussion was a price Hux was willing to pay, since that seemed to be the only way of getting her out of his office and getting him to a place where he could call and ensure Ben hadn’t become ill. (Not that he would tell him if he had, but Hux had come to know Ben’s voice well enough that he didn’t need to.)

Ben picked up on the second ring, before Hux’ stomach even had the time to work itself into knots.  

“Hi!” he said, sounding a little breathless, and Hux knew immediately that he was fine. Most likely, he had left the tablet across the room - on the kitchen counter, where he tended to forget it when he was focused on something else - and had jogged over from the sofa to retrieve it the moment he had heard Hux’ ringtone. “Sorry, I just..  shit, it’s already dark out,” he mumbled distractedly. There was the usual bit of rustling, and then Ben’s voice became so loud that Hux flinched. Even from blocks away, Hux could imagine him settling himself back on the sofa, legs pulled up underneath of him and tablet balanced in his lap on top of Hux’ pillow. “Sorry, what time is it, even- oh, you texted me?”

“I did,” Hux agreed, powerless to stop the smile that entered his voice. Even Jessika’s entitled indecisiveness couldn’t stop the effect listening to Ben talk was beginning to have on him. “Well over an hour ago.”

Ben had a habit of losing track of the time of day when he was drawing; he’d go entire hours without looking up, without remembering to eat or drink or even use the bathroom.  Remembering to take his pills, too, went entirely out of the window, and whenever things like this happened, Hux was glad Ben had thought to ask that he be shown how to set an alarm on the tablet, so he wouldn’t miss a dose.

“A-an _hour_?” More shuffling, and then he heard Ben say, “Oh my god, you sent that text at… at like 6:30. What time is it now?” Hux knew the exact moment Ben realized, because there was silence that read as horrified even through the phone, and he began apologizing immediately.  “Oh god. _Fuck_ . I-I’m sorry, I lost track of time-... I didn’t mean....  Shit, it’s _8 o’clock_ already? I’m _so_ sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you, I swear!  I-”

“Ben,” Hux said, speaking slowly and clearly so Ben couldn’t mistake him. “I’m not angry. I was a little worried, I admit, but I know you well enough by now that I don’t expect you to have the tablet glued to your side. You’re allowed to move about the apartment; in fact, I _encourage_ it. I wasn’t calling to scold you - I just wanted to make sure that you wouldn’t mind having a repeat of Tuesday for dinner. I know we had _Molyvos_ just a few days ago, but I’ve had one hell of a day, and I’m thinking a little baklava might go a ways toward making things seem less abysmal.”

In truth, for as much as he enjoyed baklava, he couldn’t forget the way _Ben’s_ face had looked upon biting into the dessert - and watching Ben enjoy things somehow did more to improve his mood than enjoying them for himself.  Although he still sounded subdued, Ben agreed just as Hux had known he would, and by the time Hux had arranged to have dinner delivered, his driver was opening his door and handing him his briefcase.

When Hux entered the penthouse, Ben was still on the sofa, but if indeed he had been sketching, he wasn’t anymore - instead, he was fiddling with the comforter wrapped around his shoulders.  A sheet of paper from Hux’ printer was face-down in his lap, on top of the tablet, and Ben’s hair was mussed as if he’d been running his fingers through it.  Usually by now Ben was ready for bed and preparing to take his last round of medication; tonight, he’d gotten as far as changing into the pajama pants Hux had lent him that first night they’d spent together, the drawstring tied a little more loosely than it had been then.  Hux took pride in that, even as he swallowed a wave of guilt that he’d kept Ben waiting.  It would be at least another half an hour until dinner was delivered, and Hux knew Ben wouldn’t be able to sleep for a little while after that, when he should have been climbing into bed soon.   _Ben_ might not have noticed how late Hux had been, but Hux had.

“Sorry your day sucked,” Ben said, drawing his knees closer together to make room for Hux on the sofa while Hux finished removing his peacoat and gloves. He sounded like he blamed himself for that when, in fact, talking to Ben had been the only decent part of Hux’ day, and Hux sighed, collapsing next to him before even making his way to the bedroom to change out of his work attire. The tie chafed at his neck, and he reached up to loosen it.

“It’s nothing,” Hux argued, waving his free hand in Ben’s direction. “And before you ask, _no,_ it’s not your fault - unless you referred a woman named Jessika and her half-assed interior design institution to Imperial Marketing. If that’s the case, I’m never speaking to you again. Which would be unfortunate, since it would make the two of us sharing this apartment rather awkward. But since I highly doubt you’re to blame for that little gift, you can stop apologizing.” He leaned his head against the back of the sofa, turning to look at Ben.  

“Did you nap today?” Ben was knuckling at an eye, looking very much like he hadn’t, and Hux raised a brow at him critically.

“I-... uhm, yes!”  Ben seemed to catch himself in the act and drew the incriminating hand away from his eye guiltily. “But, uhm, but I’m not sure… I don’t remember the time…?” He trailed off and bit his lip, looking like he was thinking very hard as he lifted the paper on top of the tablet to check the time again. “It was, uhm, a while ago - after lunch, I think? Maybe? A-at least I think it was lunch, because the alarm went off, and I took my meds, and then I thought I should probably get the dishes into the dishwasher, but I was just so sleepy, and-” Suddenly, he looked panicked, as if he was about to leap from the sofa. “Oh _shit,_ I forgot to put them in! I’m sorry! They’re still in the sink, just let me -”

Hux stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.  

“Ben, they’ll keep. How many can there be? You usually eat pudding for lunch. Or cereal. What did you leave in the sink? A spoon?” When Ben flushed lightly, just the slightest darkening across his cheekbones, Hux knew he’d hit the nail directly on the head.  Ben sometimes was more experimental with his choices of food when Hux wasn’t around, but those were his perennial favorites.  “Besides, it’s late, and we’re about to eat dinner anyway. We’re just going to make more,” he argued, the tension in Ben’s shoulders dissolving easily under his touch. The boy’s responses were learned - from where, Hux didn’t know, though he had his suspicions - and while he couldn’t turn them off, it was becoming easier for Hux to minimize them by the day.  

“Why don’t you finish what you were working on?” Hux said, indicating the paper in his lap. “It must be quite enthralling if it was enough to keep you from noticing it had grown dark outside.”  He quirked his mouth to show that the comment was meant in fun, then reached out to ruffle Ben’s hair. It was growing longer, well past his chin now, and Hux liked the feel of it, always as soft as if Ben had just gotten out of the shower. Unlike Hux, he didn’t use any products to style it, and while the right product might have helped to tame its wildness, Hux was loathe to tell him that for reasons that were… not entirely altruistic.  

Ben leaned into the touch, his eyelashes fluttering.  

“It’s nothing important,” he mumbled, “j-just a doodle, really. I- I can continue tomorrow or something.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Hux interrupted. “Dinner’s not going to be delivered for a while yet. _Molyvos_ is notoriously slow. Might as well finish your sketch - you know it’s going to bother you later if you don’t.” He leaned over Ben and peered at the paper, his hand hovering above it, waiting for permission. “May I?”

Hux had only seen a handful of Ben’s drawings when he wasn’t working on them - though he didn’t seem to notice being watched while in the act of sketching, he hoarded the finished products as if Hux’ eyes landing on them might set them aflame. Whether he was ashamed of his work or simply preferred it kept private, Hux wasn’t about to betray his trust by looking when it wasn’t wanted - but this time, Ben surprised him by nodding minutely, his eyes tracking motions of Hux’ hand.  

When Hux flipped the paper over, it was to an image he knew well - one he saw in the mirror every morning. It was the second time in the same month that his own face had looked back at him from a page - though this time, Hux thought, Ben had been far too kind to him. While there was no doubt who the sketch was meant to be, Hux had never looked half so good, so soft and subdued, the lines of his face that could easily have been harsh made blurred and muted. He looked so… so _kind,_ never a word Hux would have used to describe himself - and yet there was no denying it. If he hadn’t known just how it was made, he’d have a hard time being convinced it wasn’t a photograph. Hux couldn’t stop himself from touching; his hand brushed the page, the pads of his fingers picking up graphite as he skimmed the surface, careful not to disturb the image, and he sucked in a breath.

“Is…” He went quiet for a moment, searching for the right words to say. “Is this how you see me Ben?”

Ben hadn’t bothered to turn on any of the lights in the living area save for the Restoration Hardware floor lamp that stood next to the sofa, so that when he looked up at Hux, his face was bathed in amber light that accentuated the remarkable set of his features, and suddenly, Hux was taken with the absurd wish that he had even the barest artistic talent. That he could capture Ben this way, the way Ben had captured him. He couldn’t, of course, wasn’t sure if _anyone_ would have been capable of reproducing the way Ben looked at that moment - Ben who looked like no one else Hux had ever known. Who should, perhaps, have been ugly, but who, instead, could have been the only thing Hux laid his eyes on for the rest of his life and he would not have complained.

“It’s not all that good,” Ben whispered, already reaching to take the drawing back. Reluctantly, Hux let him. “It probably doesn’t really look like you at all, and it’s not like I just drew it out of memory or anything - I’m not _that_ good; I had to… uhm, google a picture for reference ‘cause I kept fucking the lines up, and it’s a mess, I know. Sorry, I should’ve asked first, but it was easier to try with a face I sort of know, you know? Instead of just going with some random one, but I was just… I’m sorry, I just wanted to draw…  

Hux let out a huff of disbelieving laughter. “Surely you must be joking,” he said, the tone of his voice offsetting the harshness of his words. “You’re correct in that it doesn’t look like me, but only because I could never do justice to such a lovely image. I only wish I looked like this.” He rubbed his fingers together, where they were dusted with graphite. “You did this with a standard #2 pencil?”

Again, Ben nodded at that, and Hux shook his head, still laughing to himself.  “You are truly unbelievable. If you can make me look like _that_ using a pencil meant to be used by schoolchildren for filling in bubbles on standardized tests, imagine what you could do with charcoal. Or with a fine set of ink pens. Or paint.” Excited by the prospect, Hux drew a leg up underneath himself and turned to face Ben fully. “Ben, have you ever painted?”

Ben looked startled at Hux’ sudden interest, crinkling the edges of the drawing as his hands began to ball into fists. “Y-yeah, I guess? I-mean, sometimes. Messed around a little, you know, in school and whatever. My grandma let me try stuff when I was at her house sometimes, but it’s not like, you know... I’m not an _artist_ or anything, you know? This- this is fine. I don’t need-”

Cautiously, Hux put his hands around the length of Ben’s knobby fingers, smoothing what creases he could out of the drawing. He hadn’t considered the idea before this, but now that he had… what better way to keep Ben’s mind occupied throughout the day? There was no doubt Ben was intelligent, his wit sharp; surely drawing or painting on a _real_ easel with _real_ tools that had actually been made with the purpose of creating art was a better use of his mind that watching reruns of true crime series he’d already seen.  

“Ben,” he pleaded, gently disentangling the sketch from Ben’s hold and setting it on the arm of the sofa, where it wouldn’t be in danger of further harm coming to it. It may have been vain to keep a drawing of himself, but he wanted it all the same. “You must let me outfit with you with the proper tools! You are far too talented for me to watch you draw on another cocktail napkin. _Please._ Think of it as… as an early Christmas present, if you must!”

“A-a Christmas present?” Ben felt dizzy. “I don’t-! I’m not… I don’t know how to... ” He swallowed hard. “A-are you s-sure you want to, uhm, you know, spend that money on me? I’m not… I just doodle stuff. It’s just… it’s just a waste of time, honestly. I shouldn’t even… I mean, I should do something more productive. Something that’s actually useful, I’m sorry. I mean, it’s real nice of you to offer, but it’s okay. I know it’s stupid. You really don’t have to.”

“Ben,” Mr Hux said very slowly, taking his hands and carefully running his thumbs over Ben’s knuckles. The right hand was still sore, the new tissue in that weird stage where it was both numb and over-sensitive - but for whatever reason, Mr Hux’ touch still felt good. “Listen to me.  You should first know that anything that makes me look that handsome by half is _never_ a waste of time.” He nodded towards the drawing. “There have been times I’ve considered sitting for a portrait, but seeing what I’ve seen today, I couldn’t be more glad I decided against it. Few artists could hope to create something like that, even with the finest of tools, while you’ve been here, in my home, turning out masterpieces without my knowing it. Why on earth would you think I shouldn’t do anything in my power to help you foster this skill ? Unless… it _does_ make you happy, doesn’t it?” Ben didn’t look at him, but couldn’t stop himself from nodding. “Nothing that makes you happy is stupid, Ben. Do you hear me?”

“I’m sorry,” Ben mumbled. “I just… I’ve never…” He dared to meet Mr Hux’ gaze, then quickly looked away again. For the moment there was sympathy in his eyes, care even, but Ben refused to see the second the sympathy turned to pity. But he had to explain, he knew that. If there was anything he was good at it was reading every last little speck of nuance in a voice, in the choice of words, in the shift in someone’s posture. It was the only way to navigate life in the Organa-Solo house - and while Mr Hux hadn’t explicitly asked, it was clear that Ben was expected to tell him the story behind this… _issue_ of his. He took a deep breath, and tried again.

“M-my granddad,” he started. “He was an artist. A proper one. Like, he had actual exhibitions and stuff. But, uhm, they… uhm, they didn’t have a lot of money - him and grandma - and then, uhm, the war happened. So he got drafted, and he really didn’t want to, because grandma was pregnant, and stuff...” God, this was hard to talk about!  “And then… he went off to fight, and when he came back he… he wasn’t the same. He’d been really badly injured, lost a leg, and got stuck in a wheelchair. There was other stuff too, like shrapnel and some burns and stuff - so he couldn’t get a job when he was discharged. He and grandma divorced when m-mum was just three or four, and he just… you know, spiraled from there. They say he had some… uhm, that there was something wrong with his head. Like, he was sick or something. And, uhm, he kept painting, but since he couldn’t get anything sold anymore, ‘cause he never left the house unless to-... unless to buy booze or drugs, he got evicted.” Ben swallowed hard, tears forming in his eyes despite his attempts to keep them away. “He, uhm… They didn’t know whether he was alive or dead until grandma got a call from the hospital saying he’d been found in the alley outside some sleazy bar or whatever. He died from an O.D. I was four.”

He took another peek at Mr Hux, who looked frozen to the spot. It seemed like he was going to say something, but now that Ben had gotten started, the words wouldn’t let themselves be stopped - and even though he knew he was saying way too much, was sharing stuff that _no one fucking cared about_ , that he was wasting Mr Hux’ time, he had to continue. Had to get this out of his system. Besides, he’d rather Mr Hux tell him to shut up than be accused of lying by withholding any sort of information. He knew full well that the shame of being told he was talking too much, that no one was listening anymore, was far easier to handle than the consequences of being called a liar.

“H-he had nothing when he died,” he croaked, choking back a sob. “Only the clothes on his body, his dogtags, and a photo of grandma. He didn’t even- didn’t even have a single drawing left.” Reclaiming his left hand, Ben wiped irritatedly at his eyes and nose. “So, you know… Having grown up with all of that, mum wasn’t… I guess she didn’t want the same for me. You know? And dad… He… uhm, he’s kinda old fashioned. He thinks a man should- should do useful stuff, you know, like learn all the practical shit. Fix cars, repair stuff, get a proper job - things like that.” He smiled ruefully. “Obviously they know better than me when it comes to this stuff, I know they do. I’m just… I’m no good with stuff like that. Never was. I’m… Mum always says I’m too much like, uhm, like _him_ . That if I don’t watch out, I’m gonna end up like him. In the… in the gutter. Art doesn’t pay the bills. They always told me that. Art doesn’t keep you fed. It doesn’t help you provide for your family. It’s useless.” He managed to stop the ‘ _I’m useless_ ’ that almost followed - knowing that it would probably just annoy Mr Hux. But he didn’t have to say it to know it was the truth. “So, uhm, thank you - but I’m fine. I know it’s a waste of time, and you really shouldn’t spend your money on me. I need to start pulling my weight around here, anyway. Might as well get started now that I got both my hands working again. Or, you know, go back to work or something. If, uhm, if I still have a job, that is...”

Suddenly grateful that he hadn’t thought to take off his blazer before settling down next to Ben, Hux dug into the pocket to fish out the handkerchief he usually kept tucked there. When Ben had calmed down enough that he stemmed the tide of words rushing out of him, Hux placed it in his hand and wrapped his own around it, guiding it up to where tears had left his eyes puffy and red, and he gently encouraged him to dab at the corners.

“There’s a reason it’s said a true gentleman is never caught without a handkerchief,” he joked. “You never know when one of these is going to come in handy.” The words came out strained, his humor falling flat in the wake of his anger. He didn’t _feel_ much like a gentleman - he felt like someone who would very much have liked to revisit the night he had laid another man out for insulting his watch. Except he was sober this time, and it wasn’t his watch that had been done injury. He wasn’t sure what he had expected - had Ben’s family been worth their salt, they would have been the first ones at the emergency room the day Ben had taken out his administrative division. They would have reached out to Ben sometime in the month he and Hux had known each other. Would have showed up outside of Hux’ building and demanded entry if that was the only way of seeing their son.

Instead, there had been nothing but radio silence.  

Ben let out a watery sniffle, and Hux gave him a moment to collect himself - one that Hux took to collect himself as well.  

“I…” he began, then cleared his throat when his voice threatened to break. “I know all about parents with unfair expectations.” The words stuck in his throat; they’d been so long held back, it was like trying to force water out through a spigot that had been blocked. “My father, he… ah… _dammit,”_ Hux cursed, balling his hand into a first and bringing in down on his folded knee as he bit his tongue at his own impotence. He shut his eyes for a moment; when he opened them, Ben looked on the verge of tears again. “Forgive me, I… this is not something I often talk about. But I only thought you should know…” He trailed off again. Never had he felt more helpless than when he tried to reach out to Ben. “Ben, my father is not in my life. Hasn’t been since I was able to make the choice for him not to be.”

When he swallowed, his throat clicked, the ache there one that could only be soothed with a glass of wine or a snifter of brandy.

“I… what I’m trying to tell you is that your family will tell you many things. Things that make you think you’d never be able to make it through without them. That you aren’t capable of running your own firm without their input; that they’re the ones who made you. That who or what you are is something that can be traced back to your lineage rather than your own determination. That you are reliant or dependent or any number of other bullshit notions.” He shook his head, laughing bitterly. He hadn’t meant to say any of those things - things that he couldn’t even be sure applied to Ben in all the ways they applied to him - but he couldn’t take them back now. “Ben, the point is: whatever your family has said to you about your art, it’s untrue. All of it.”

Ben still had the handkerchief pressed to his face.  “I-I’m sorry,” he stuttered.  “A-about your dad, I mean - I-I didn’t know...uhm, I shouldn’t have said-”

“No, let me finish.” Hux cut him off. “This isn’t about me or my father or any of it. Your skill as an artist isn’t just impressive - it’s _marketable._ You think you can’t make a living off art? Tell that to the original Seurat hanging above my bed. Do you know how much that painting cost? The better side of fifty-million dollars, Ben - and I would have paid more had the bids climbed higher. Anyone who tells you art is unimportant or inconsequential or _useless_ is someone whose opinion should be discarded, and quickly.” He took the sketch in his hands, crumpled now at the edges, and held it up, so that Ben was forced to look at what he had drawn.

“Look at this,” he said. “You have a gift, and you’re going to use it, as long you’re here with me - and as long as you want to. This notion of you needing to pull your weight - that’s absurd. I have a woman who cleans this penthouse, a driver who takes me wherever I need to go, so many secretaries and financial advisors and PR people at my firm that I can’t keep track of them all. The last thing I need is another employee. Your only job here is, as it always has been, to get well.” Ben opened his mouth, looking like he was about to interrupt, and Hux held up a finger, shushing him. “But.  If you truly feel you must do something for me outside of being willing to share my baklava - because god knows I haven’t once managed the entire piece on my own, and I never remember to eat it before it goes bad in the refrigerator - then I have a proposition for you. Ben, if you _must_ do something, I want you to paint for me.”

Ben was so pale he looked as if he might faint, his hold on the handkerchief so loose it was a surprise he hadn’t dropped it yet.  

“Y-you-... you’re kidding me, right?” the boy argued, even as Hux reached out to take the pink square of cloth from between limp fingers. “No way- There’s n-no way you’d want me to-… uh-uh,  no, no way. You could afford _anything_ , why - I mean, y-you could-”

“No, I’m not _kidding you_.” Hux took his time folding the square, ensuring the corners were creased, even though Ben had used it thoroughly and it would need to be laundered. When he was finished, he looked Ben straight in the eyes, resting a hand on his knee. “You’re right - I could afford anything. Isn’t it just my luck then that I have the most talented artist I’ve ever had the pleasure of coming in contact with sitting right here, on my sofa, looking at an expanse of empty wall so huge that there’s not much of anything he wouldn’t be able to paint on it? What do you say,  Ben? Accept the gift. Paint my wall.”

“I-I… I can’t really say no to that, can I? I mean… i-if you think I- that I could do it...” Ben’s eyes dropped to the hand on his knee, then moved to the wall behind Hux’ head, roving over the ample white space, just begging to be painted. It was so large he could easily have fit an entire mural, if that’s what he chose, and even as he debated whether he could allow himself to accept this, Hux could see the wheels beginning to turn, Ben imagining what he might put there. “But I don’t even-… Oh my God, what would I even-”

“Anything you want,” Hux assured him, before he had even finished the question. “The choice is yours. I don’t know the first thing about painting. Just make a list of the tools you’ll need, and I’ll see that you have them. From there, you have total artistic control.” If only Phasma could see him now, he thought - Phasma who had mocked him mercilessly for the three weeks he’d spent deliberating over the shade of cream for the Karastan carpeting in his foyer.  

“Mr Hux,” Ben gushed, and he leaned forward, into Hux’ space, close enough that their noses could have brushed, had either one of them turned the right way. “I… I don’t know what to say, I- shit, I just- _thank you._ I’ll try my hardest, I swear it.”

He was practically _beaming._

“Ben.” Hux chuckled at his enthusiasm; he’d never seen Ben so excited about _anything_ , and that alone made the wall worth it, no matter how it turned out. Hell, he’d let him paint the whole damn penthouse if it made him smile like this, wide open and so sweet it almost hurt to look at it. “You’ve been living in my house for almost a month. Don’t you think it’s time you called me Hux?” He squeezed Ben’s knee, relishing the warmth between them, the stress of the day abandoned far below on the city streets. “Oh, and don’t go thanking me yet. I’ve been told I’m a _bear_ to work with.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, Ben is a better artist than he gives himself credit for. Yes, Hux notices. Yes, this changes things.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: brief thought/consideration of self-harm.

Ben had pretty much given up any hopes of ever feeling like he wasn’t completely reeling with all the new twists and turns his life was currently taking. As soon as he found his bearings again, the world, or Mr Hux - no, just _Hux_ now - would deliver some new information or opportunity, or praise - and it would send Ben’s entire world spinning again. He was learning how to navigate it - if there was anything Ben Solo was good at it was learning the rules as quickly as physically possible in order to avoid repercussions - and he was getting fairly good at it, too. But this last spin… It was four days later now, and he still had a hard time comprehending it. Hux had asked him to paint the living room wall. He had called Ben the most talented artist he’d ever known, and he had asked him to paint the fucking _living room wall._ It was a big wall, too. A perfect square canvas, with the best possible natural light coming at it from three directions - and the entire living room was facing it. It would be the centerpiece of the room had Hux not already had that grand piano standing there like some hulking yet elegant beast - and Ben had free hands, permission to paint whatever the hell he wanted.

And if that hadn’t been enough, Hux had let it slip, yesterday during dinner - causing Ben to choke on his soda - that if he liked the living room wall, then perhaps Ben would be willing to do the other walls as well. Since there was quite few of them, and they were rather… well, boring, weren’t they? Though he would never say it out loud, Ben was sure Hux must’ve hit his head pretty damn hard on the way from work if he could make _that_ kind of a suggestion.

Right now, Ben was fiddling. It was a Tuesday afternoon, and Hux had called to tell him he was leaving Imperial and would come pick Ben up as soon as they made it through traffic. They were going to go shop for art supplies, and Ben was developing a rather impressive bruise on his left thigh from where he kept pinching himself just to make sure he was awake. Hux had apparently - in his usual, hyper organized manner - asked around and googled for art supply stores in New York, and presented Ben with a very short list. It only had two names on it, and Ben had listened to Hux describing the first one as ‘respectable and well-established’, and the other one as ‘it seemed to have good ratings, but their aesthetic is abhorrent’. Ben had felt all warm inside, unable to stop himself from smiling despite how much he hated his smile, at how much work Hux had put into this. He couldn’t for the life of him see why anyone would want want to waste so much time and money on him, but he figured that since he had asked Ben to paint his wall, it was to be considered as some form of deal or investment, and Ben could handle that. It made far more sense than Hux doing this just to be… _nice._ No one was ever just nice to Ben, and he knew better than to think a man like Hux would be the one to start now.

The business aspect made it much easier for him to - as politely as he possibly could - explain to Hux why they were not going to his first choice of store. Ben might not have been allowed to use his creative talent - which he still very much doubted was half as great as Hux made it out to be - but he had owned a worn old laptop, and he knew how to use privacy settings on his browser. Unlike most guys his age, he guessed, he didn’t use them to surf for porn half as often as he used it to spend hours and hours looking at art, gallery exhibitions, and the different kinds of paints, pencils, inks, canvases, and thousands other tools and mediums he desperately wished he’d get to try before he died. Therefore he knew that Hux’ first choice, _New York Central Art Supply,_ was a no go. They had been sold earlier that year, and the firm that had taken over was not one Ben was very impressed with. Their selection had narrowed dramatically, and silly as it may be, he refused to buy anything with the word _'A_ _rtarama_ ’ on the bag. There was a limit, even for Ben, how much he would willingly embarrass himself, and he would rather not be associated with something that sounded like it was marketed to kids. When he had explained this to Hux, the man had winced even harder at the _Artarama_ thing than Ben, and quickly discarded that option. So in the end it was decided that they were heading down to _DaVinci Art Supply_ instead - as they had a solid reputation, knowledgeable staff, and an About Us on their website that looked good enough to Hux. Ben hadn’t the heart to tell him that art and marketing were two very different spheres, and that he really shouldn’t expect too much. He just tried to keep his tired brain focused for long enough to let Hux explain the details of their outing - having learned quickly that Ben needed a lot of structure around him to function well - but still managing to fall asleep on the couch. He’d woken up in bed a few hours later, and he refused to even think about how he ended up there. The thought of being carried there and tucked in did all kinds of weird things to his heart, and he really couldn’t handle that right now.

Today was the day, and Ben had done as he was told and slept a bit longer than usual during his midday nap. It was easier to plan lunch and activities during the day now that he didn’t have any meds to take with his lunch, and thus no nausea to plan around, and he really needed that nap if he was to make it through this outing. Then he had made sure to shower and shave, before dressing down as much as he could in the clothes Hux had bought for him. His hair was a bloody mess as always, but there wasn’t much to be done. At least it wasn’t that awful bowl-cut look alike thing that Leia usually had him in. He’d almost put the razor to his skin at the treacherous thought - having stood paralyzed by sudden anxiety for a good ten minutes, until his brain finally realized that Leia wasn’t around to hear him think it. That it was just a thought. That she wouldn’t be there to make him regret it. He had a lot of those moments nowadays. More and more of them, if he was to be honest with himself, but for now he really didn’t want to think too much about it. That would be like breaking open a hornet’s nest, and he wasn’t in a place where he was ready to do that.

He’d been soaking wet from the cold sweat - it had gone right through the fabric - and he had to take another shower, and then tried blowdrying his hair. Leia would always get annoyed with him when he did, as she said it would damage the ends, and she’d have to waste money on sending him to the hairdresser again before he really needed it. She’d also commented that the volume made his short hair stand up in a way that made him look absolutely stupid - ‘like a poodle’, she’d laughed, and sent for Han. He’d sent Ben right back in under the water and told him to just ‘dry the stuff like a normal guy’. So this time it had taken another ten minutes of staring at the blow-dryer before he even dared reach out for it, but now he was glad he did. Berating himself for his vanity, Ben still had to admit he liked the way it made his hair feel, and before he could stop himself he thought about whether Hux would like it.

Even with those extra steps, he had still finished with time to spare - dressed in a pair of dark slacks, an oxblood coloured shirt, with the top few buttons left open, and the pair of least dressy shoes he had. He’d been ready for an hour, and now he was fiddling with the remains of what had been a rather bad doodle of Millicent, but what was now more of a… well, pile of shreds in various stages of crumpledness. When he heard the sound of the front door, he leapt to his feet, hurrying towards the entrance hall to make sure Hux didn’t have to wait a second longer than necessary. The older man smiled as came to meet him.

“That shirt is stunning on you, truly. One of my favorites of Thannison’s picks to date,” he said by way of greeting, then peered a little closer. “You look well this afternoon. Good day?” He squinted, cocking his head to the side.

Ben nodded as he dug his coat out from the closet, fumbling as usual, and tried not to blush as Hux took it from him and helped him into it.

“It’s, uhm, one of the better ones so far,” he said. “I wasn’t nauseous after lunch, so that was pretty good. Actually got a good nap, too. I feel… yeah, uhm, it’s a good day.”

“You don’t know how it delights me to hear you say that, Ben.” Hux chose a scarf from the top rack of the closet and held it out to him. “It’s damn near glacial out there; best dress for it. Shall we?”

\---

Every single one of Ben’s carefully made plans for this outing about staying close to Hux at all times, being on his absolute best behaviour and saying and doing absolutely fucking _nothing_ that could even remotely make him look greedy, spoiled, or ungrateful, were totally forgotten the second he stepped inside the store.

All of his senses were flooded with impressions all at once - the sight of all the stuff, the smell of wood, paint, paper, and all the other things, the faint taste coming to linger in his mouth as he inhaled deeply, the dampened sound of rustling, talking, clinking, the warm, dry air - and before he could even think about what he was doing, he was walking down the nearest aisle, running his hand over the collections of sketchpads displayed on the shelves there. He was vaguely aware that Hux had been saying something to him, but right now nothing else existed but Ben and _all the things he had ever wanted to have._ He was not just allowed but _expected_ to pick out anything and everything he could possibly need - not just for the moment, but for the foreseeable future - as Hux had gently reminded him that it would probably be a while before Ben was well enough to just head over here and restock on things. They needed to plan ahead, so Ben had to promise to make sure he was covered for every possible creative urge he might get. Ben wondered if Hux had the faintest idea just how much stuff that would be, but then again, the man had gone out and bought him an entire wardrobe, so maybe this was just normal stuff to him.

Just going through the different sketchpads alone would take ages, he knew that; there were so many different kinds, and so many different brands it made his head swim, but he took his time, feeling the paper, comparing it, reveling in it, then making a mental list of which ones he wanted to take home with him. He’d need a lot of regular ones, that was obvious, but there were pads for mixed media, for ink, for marker pens, for all kinds of things, and in so many sizes… Would it be rude to ask Hux for one of each size? Maybe not. He had said ‘everything you need,’ after all. 

Once he was satisfied with his list of pads, he went on to add tracing paper and a proper light table to the list - the store had just the model he’d been coveting for years, in A3 size too, which was just a dream come true - then a few clipboards, rulers, erasers, and all the other little standard items he’d need regardless of what else he bought. Then he came to the colouring pencils, and before he could even start thinking of what brands and types, he just had to stand there for a moment and look. He recognized some of them from his grandma’s house - she’d saved a lot of his granddad’s stuff when he moved out, but unfortunately none of his paintings - and he knew he had to take at least a few of them home with him. It made sense, after all; he had used them before, even though it was at least a decade ago now. But they had these pencils here, that were colouring pencils, but that would come out looking like a mix of ink and watercolour if one put water on them, and Ben just _had_ to try that! In the end, most of the different pencils went on his list - they came in really neat boxes of up to almost a hundred different shades, which was really practical too. Charcoal crayons and pens next, then the markers. Oh God, he’d never realized there were so many different kinds of those! Maybe it was best to stick to a few different pre-made sets of colours? Just until he was sure he knew how to use them. No use wasting money on stuff he might not even like, right?

The spray paint was easy - he wanted all of it, especially after he found one brand that he remembered had good reputation for quality that was also easier on the lungs, and something he could use indoors without harming himself of Millie. The different inks were equally easy, and he made a note to get both pens and brushes for those. Then he had to go back to the pads again, just to make sure he’d seen one that would work for that - just as an excuse to look at everything again. He couldn’t fucking believe he was actually here, actually doing this, actually being encouraged to pick things out for himself. For once, he was glad for the somewhat numbing effects of the Zyprexa, because otherwise he’d been bawling like a baby out of sheer happiness by now. He’d had his fill of ugly-crying in public for the next decade or so already, thank you very much.

Listing a set of every single type of brush and canvas there was, was an easy thing to justify, he told himself. If there was anything that would need to be restocked a lot it was those things. Brushes got lost, broken, ruined, or just plain bad, and would need replacing occasionally. Canvases were, well, supposed to be used only once, so it was logical that he’d need many of those. But it was the paint itself that was the highlight of this entire visit, and it was completely intentional that he’d saved it for last.

His granddad had mostly used oil, his grandma had told him when he was little, and Ben still remembered the boxes of half-used, squeezed-into-crumpled-mess little tubes, jars and bottles of various dried colours with their names and mixing dates scribbled onto them, and the very distinct smell that came with them. It had given him a headache, and his grandma had smiled and said it did that to her too, but that as long as one made sure to air the room out occasionally, it wasn’t all bad. Ben wanted to try oil, he really did - he’d been pretty good with it during art class in school - and he added it to his list, but for now he wanted to start with something a little easier. Had their selection of acrylic paint really been this large on their website? Or had he missed a page or five? He recognized the brand they’d used in school, and he decided not to go with that, as it hadn’t really been too great a quality, and he had a feeling Hux would refuse to buy it just from how childish the design of the bottles were.

He really hoped Hux hadn’t made any other plans after this, because this was going to take a while. He hadn’t even looked at the watercolours yet. Or the easels.

And he really didn’t want this to end too soon, because he felt… happy. _Really happy._

\---

Hux had never set foot in an art supply store. Of gallery openings and exhibitions, he’d seen more than his share, but he’d never had either the need or desire to attempt art of his own, so of the places one might procure the tools necessary to do so, he knew very little. DaVinci Art Supply, however, looked exactly as he’d always imagined such a shop would, bigger on the inside than it appeared on the outside, both homey and industrial in a way he didn’t entirely understand, but that wasn’t unpleasant. It smelled a little like wood shavings, he thought, the light that filtered through the windows catching on the dust that hung in the air, and anywhere else he might have looked down his nose at that, but here it seemed fitting.  

“Well, it certainly _looks_ as if they have a fair selection,” he commented to Ben, holding the door open to usher the boy inside. Behind him, the bell above the door tinkled merrily as Hux let it swing shut, and he continued, taking in the wooden signs that hung from the ceiling, indicating what supplies could be found in each of the aisles. “You’re welcome to start wherever you like, but painting supplies are housed that way - at least that’s what it says on the sign - and I think we’d best find someone to start taking down our order, so we don’t have to walk the aisles with our arms full-”  By the time he turned back to address Ben, he had gone missing, disappeared entirely, and Hux trailed off, looking around in confusion. _“Ben?”_   

He hadn’t taken his eyes off of Ben for more than a few moments - how far could he have gotten in a shop of this size? On the rare occasions they went out - mostly to pick up food, if Ben was feeling well enough, or to stroll around the block below his penthouse when Ben was taken by restlessness - he stuck close to Hux’ side, never venturing out of sight. This was new, and with a bit of concern, Hux called out to him again.

_"Ben?”_ He lowered his voice to a stage-whisper, peering down the first of the aisles, which - according to the wooden sign above it - housed charcoal pencils and something called _graphite sticks._ Ben’s tousled head wasn’t immediately visible, and thinking that the second of those two items sounded very much like a regular pencil he could have picked up just as easily almost anywhere, Hux set about looking for someone who could not only begin a list of the supplies Ben would need to take with him, but who could help him navigate the shop well enough to locate the boy in the first place.

The shop was bustling for just past lunchtime in the middle of the week - though no one had dared ask, he would gladly have cited Ben’s health as the reason he’d needed to leave the office early once again, even to himself - but, Hux supposed, what better gift could there be for an artist than art supplies? It wasn’t the crowd that surprised him, but the _kind_ of people DaVinci Art Supply attracted. He’d expected for the shoppers he saw here to be _visibly_ artsy - young, willowy women with their hair parted down the middle or wound into braids, men wearing fedoras and horn-rimmed glasses, eccentric-looking types who’d never left behind the aesthetic of the art students he’d known at Princeton. But the majority of these people looked… startlingly nondescript. Like any number of Hux’ employees, wearing ties and vests, as if they, too, had abandoned the paperwork left piled high on their desks in favor of an afternoon spent inspecting the different brands of coloring pencils.

Hux wound his way around them until he came upon a register, next to which stood a man - probably closer to Ben’s age than Hux’ - wearing a beige, paint-spattered apron. A collection of brushes poked out from the pockets on either side, and as Hux took in his face, he saw there was even one tucked behind his ear in a way that reminded him of Edwards, the journalist that had interviewed him a lifetime-and-a-half ago. The strings of his apron were wrapped around his waist twice, to tie in the front, his hands collecting what Hux recognized as a ball of modeling clay that someone had abandoned on the counter. It left his palms an unhealthy-looking shade of grey, and as he wiped the glass underneath where the clay had sat, there could be no doubt that he worked here; at first glance, he was the only person Hux could be certain did. They didn’t wear name tags here, apparently, nor did they have any sort of uniform, and Hux took his chance.

“I presume you’re the man I would talk to were I to inquire about placing a rather large order?” Hux took his wallet from the pocket of his peacoat and flashed his American Express; he knew of no quicker way to let a man know he meant business. “I’m here with a personal friend who is preparing for a project of some importance, and I’d like to see to it that he has everything he might need, and then some.” The shop worker, who had hair the color of toffee, Hux noted, used his already soiled apron to dust off the residue from his hands, though it did little to budge the grey film that had covered them. “My friend - Ben is his name - should have a good idea of where to start, but knowing him as I do, I suspect he’ll try to be sparing with his list. I don’t want him to be sparing, if you understand my meaning. He might not be willing to choose the best for himself, but I want the best _for_ him. Of course, I would see the man who helps him with this was rewarded handsomely, as I am, unfortunately, quite hopeless in this department.”

Hux had played the hopeless novice in this past, and it worked just as well now, the toffee-colored head nodding and smiling easily.

“Oh, it’s not as hard as you think to find your way around the place, but sure, I’m your man.” He extended his hand, and Hux took it firmly, unconcerned with the grey residue cracking in the grooves of his knuckles. It was all the part of the whole “art shop” aesthetic, after all. If he was going to do this - for Ben - he might as well do it right. “We don’t do a lot of large orders, but I’m sure we can figure something out. Just let me see if I can track down a pad of paper…” He ducked behind the register for a moment, Hux rubbing his now soiled hand along the leg of his pants, and when he appeared again, he had found what he was looking for.

“So where is he - this friend who needs my help?”

“Well, that’s….I’ve managed to lose him, I think. You keep it rather dark in here, don’t you?” Hux used a nail to scratch behind his ear, a bit self-conscious now. “I was hoping you might have seen him come this way? He’s…” He paused, considering the best way to describe Ben without resorting to cliches. “He’s about my height. Slim. Perhaps a little broader across the shoulders, dark hair in an atrocious cut that somehow manages to not look atrocious on him at all. It’s like dark magic, that hair, I tell you. Really striking features - totally unique, the kind you’ve never seen before. There’s something.... oh, I don’t know what it is, about him, but you’ll recognize it as soon as you see it. Everyone does.” Hux stopped himself. This wasn’t helpful at all. It sounded as if he was describing some elusive woodland creature, rather than a human. “He’s probably wandering around here right now looking all starry-eyed. You’ll know him because he’ll look like a child in a candy store and, as soon as you see him smile, you won’t be able to stop yourself from joining him. Don’t even try it because, believe me, it won’t work.”

When he finished, the man blinked at him, wide-eyed.

“Okay. I - uh. I’m not really sure what to do with any of that - other than to suggest that, if you’re not into visual art, maybe you should try poetry.” Hux didn’t appreciate the joke, and ruffled, he schooled his expression into something serious. He didn’t enjoy being laughed at, even silently. “Listen, the name’s Jason. What do you say the two of us just try to find him together, and we’ll go from there?”

“Hux,” he said simply, his voice gruff now, by way of response.  

The shop worker - Jason - had taken a few steps in front of him in preparation to lead him through the aisles, but upon hearing Hux’ name, he stopped in his tracks, turning to face him so quickly that Hux nearly smashed directly into his nose.  

“Hux…” he repeated, disbelief evident in the single world.  He squinted at Hux’ features, and Hux took a step back. “I _thought_ I recognized you from somewhere. You - you were on the cover of last month’s issue of _Esquire,_ weren’t you? I mean, that was just your profile, so I wasn’t sure but… you’re _him._ You...you run Imperial Marketing, that huge building over on 6th Avenue, don’t you? The one right across from the Bank of America Tower.” Hux nodded and would have opened his mouth to confirm the statement, but he wasn’t given the chance. “Oh man, this can’t be real. I used to walk that way when my dad took me to work with him. I remember what it was like before; those two buildings change the whole scape of the street. You’re _that_ Hux.”

Hux flushed uncomfortably, again scanning the shop for any sign of Ben. It wasn’t the first time he’d been recognized outside of the office, and it usually resulted in the type of treatment he wasn’t quick to turn down, but watching someone react as if he was some sort of celebrity was something he would never grow accustomed to.

“Yes, I’m _that_ Hux,” he confirmed, ignoring the heat in his cheeks. He was _that_ Hux, and _that_ Hux wasn’t the type of man to go blushing just because he’d been recognized in an art supply store. “Do you know of any others?” The man might have said his father, but if he knew enough to recognize him, Hux would have bet good money that he knew better than to try it too. “But for now, what I am is a patron of this supply store in need of someone to-”

Hux was saved from further attempts at silencing the shop worker’s gushing when Ben materialized at the end of an aisle across the shop. He stumbled out from between shelves stocked with paints - acrylic, Hux guessed - looking just as dazed as Hux had described. His head turned from one side to the other, eyes trying to take in everything at once as his hair bounced around his face, and when he finally focused on Hux, he knew he had spoken the truth There was no meeting one of Ben’s smiles with anything but one of your own. Hux was transfixed as his whole face changed with it - eyes crinkled, mouth spread wide open to expose the bottom row of his teeth, every one of Ben’s angles gone soft and vulnerable.

Ben was looking at him like he’d given him the world, and Hux thought, with a smile like that, there were no guarantees he wouldn’t do just that before this whole thing was over.

“Ben!” he said, dropping his previous line of conversation and stepping forward to greet him. “I thought I’d lost you. Look, I’ve found someone to help us with our order. I expect we’re going to be leaving with at least one of everything in this shop - far too much to fit into the town car. We’ll just let Jason here make note of everything you’d like, and I’m sure it will be his pleasure to arrange for us to have it all delivered, won’t it, Jason?”

“Sorry!” Ben apologized, but the smile didn’t drop from his face. If anything, it grew bigger, and before he realized it, Hux’ cheek were aching with the force of his own answering smile. “T-there’s just so much to choose from! I don’t even know where to begin, I just... There’s like sixteen different types of the acrylic paint alone. _Sixteen._ That’s… that’s like… I’ve never… I’m sorry, but this might take a while, I don’t really know where to start. But seriously, you’ve got to see-”

“I haven’t seen anything yet, Ben,” Hux chuckled, taking hold of his elbow again and gently guiding him to stand in front of Jason, who was ready with his pad of paper and pencil. Ben was fairly vibrating with excitement, and Hux laughed again, deep in his chest. “I’ve spent the time since we entered the shop looking for you and speaking with Jason. Besides, I wouldn’t even know what I was looking at; I thought it best to wait for you to show me the lay of the land, rather than wandering blindly.” Ben looked slightly abashed at that, so Hux jostled his elbow lightly, before he could start truly feeling bad for wandering off. “It looks like you’ve already done some exploring of your own.  Do you think you can take the two of us through the store and point out everything you want?”

“A-are you sure?” Ben stuttered. “I mean-... That’s kinda a lot, and I-... I probably don’t uhm, don’t really _need_ all of it. But, uhm, I can… I can show my favourite bits so far, and-”

“Nonsense.” Hux squeezed Ben’s elbow tighter, then focused on Jason. “Now, as we make our way through the shop, Ben is going to call out everything he thinks he might want. You’re going to follow behind him, writing it all down and, at the end of this venture, you’re going to present me with an invoice - which I will pay, in full and with a generous gratuity attached, before we set foot outside that door. If the items Ben requests are, in your opinion, the finest in the store, that’s what you’ll place aside for us. If you believe you have others in stock that will better suit his needs, you’ll place those aside - _in addition to_ the items Ben has requested _,_ so that he’ll have his choice of both when he begins his work. Does that sound like a service you can provide to us, Jason?”

Jason agreed - he would have been a fool not to - and with that, the three of them started back at the first aisle of the shop, Ben leading the way. Hux remained attached to his elbow, nodding in agreement whenever he pointed out something he liked, allowing Ben to act as his guide. While Hux certainly appreciated art, he’d had no idea how much went into creating it.  Ben hadn’t exaggerated - there were _at least_ sixteen different types of acrylic paint and that didn’t even touch the oil paints or watercolors or any of the variations of paint Hux hadn’t known the names of before this. Ben, however, was familiar with all of it, confident in a way Hux had never seen him before this, that infectious smile never leaving his face, and Hux found himself tucking Ben in closer to his side without meaning to as Ben called out different sizes of canvases and drop cloths to place underneath of them.

They’d need to protect Hux’ carpeting, Ben had explained - and, Hux mused, as Ben finished with a request for coloring pencils that could be used like watercolors too, what did it say that this was the first time such an idea had occurred to him at all?

\---

Ben couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt more in his element than he had during the time in the shop. All of his hours of studying, imagining, wishing, researching had finally paid off, and to his own huge surprise he’d been able to have a conversation with the shop guy - Jason was it? - as an equal. Ben didn’t get a lot of those moments, so this was huge. They had discussed the pros and cons of certain brands of things, talked about techniques, styles, little tips and tricks, and Ben hadn’t found himself stuttering or saying something embarrassing or stupid even once. He did feel a little bit embarrassed by how they had more or less ignored Hux completely, and Ben had kept as close an eye on him as he dared, but he didn’t seem to mind. Instead, his hand had gone from loosely gripping his elbow to resting on the small of his back, his thumb gently moving in that soothing little gesture that Ben was pretty sure he’d give his right arm to always feel, and he was smiling as if Ben’s and Jason’s conversation fascinated him to no end. It probably didn’t, but even that little encouragement helped a lot.

Their discussion about Ben’s plan for painting the wall had been incredibly educational and rewarding, and Jason had roped in a co-worker to make sure Ben was equipped with the best possible paint and tools for that endeavour, and then he had even gone so far as to try and persuade Ben to let him have his contact info in case they needed someone to come in and work part-time - which had Ben blushing every possible shade of red, and Hux stepping in to save him by stating that Ben’s financial security was already taken care of, but that they appreciated the offer. In the end, Hux had to quite literally herd him out of there, because he just couldn’t stop looking at things.

It wasn’t until a few very serious looking guys had delivered all of the stuff a couple of hours later that Ben actually realized the magnitude of the gift he’d been given. Hux had directed the men to his giant dining room table - which Hux had once informed him actually fitted 16 people, or 20 if a few of them weren’t afraid of sitting close together - and the stuff took up the entire surface, plus most of the chairs around it. There were literal piles of stuff, large cardboard boxes in the dozens - housing everything from his spray paint to his new cases of colouring pencils - five different types of easels waiting to be assembled, package after package of sketchpads, more bags than he could count filled with all of the other things. He struggled to comprehend what he was seeing. These things belonged to Ben, and only Ben. No one would come to take them away from him. They were all _his_.

Sure, the clothes and things had been a huge, incredible gift too - and Ben was beyond grateful for it - but clothes were at least something logical, something necessary. Ben needed clothes, and so it made sense that Hux would get that for him. But this… This was just a _hobby_ , if it even qualified as that - just something that Ben liked to do. It had no other purpose, it wasn’t really useful, didn’t contribute anything to the household. It was just… It was just to make Ben happy, and it was too much, and everything he had ever dreamed of, and way too nice for someone like him, and… How could he ever properly express how happy this had made him?

Before he could even register what he was doing, he had thrown himself into Hux’ arms, pulling him into a tight hug, repetitions of the words ‘thank you’ falling from his lips like some sort of tidal wave. Somewhere in his mind, he noticed how Hux didn’t push him away, but instead pulled him closer - _held him tight_ \- and Ben had never felt more at home anywhere than he did in that moment. He never wanted to let go, but even more so, he never wanted _Hux_ to let go. The way he held Ben was like making it to homeport after a lifetime stuck on a stormy sea, it was like that last proverbial puzzle piece finally slipping into place, it was like seeing colour after never having known anything but shades of grey. Hux’ arms were strong, steady around him, and he couldn’t help but realize how well he just _fit_ right there, pressed close to Hux’ body where he could feel their hearts beating as if they weren’t two separate bodies. Hux’ arms felt like salvation, and Ben felt… _saved_.

As they pulled back slightly, trying to find their balance in order to avoid falling over, there was that moment - that moment that Ben up until now only thought existed in cheesy romcoms, but here it was. Here were their eyes locking onto each other, the rest of the world ceasing to exist, fading into nothing but a forgotten blur of things that just didn’t matter next to this…. whatever this was. In the end, it was impossible to tell which of them moved first, but suddenly there was contact, lips against lips, and if Ben had felt saved a moment before, he felt as if he’d been allowed to see, touch, feel, taste _sacred_ in its purest form - or, he would have, had he still had the ability to think, but his mind was blank, his internal demons quiet for the first time in… what felt dangerously close to forever.

He should have known it could never be real.

\---

Hux’ heart slammed into his ribcage, his breath stuttering as he felt the brush of Ben’s lower lip against his. Until now, he hadn’t allowed himself to imagine what it might be like to kiss Ben. Had strictly forbid himself from imagining how it would feel to hold him, to do anything more than offer a comforting hand on his shoulder or steady him with a touch to his spine, just above that place where it dipped invitingly - the point below which Hux’ hand could never be permitted to stray. The touches they’d shared before this had been innocent, friendly - even if Hux’ palm had burned at each point of contact. Hux had kept them that way, even when he itched for more - even when he hated himself for itching for more, for not just being happy with what he was given goddammit - because they _had_ to be.  

There were things that were good ideas, and there were things that were bad ideas, and then there was kissing Ben Solo in the middle of his living room, right there in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows that offered the best view of New York money could buy. Phasma had told him; she’d _told_ him. She knew him better than he knew himself - had known, even before Hux did, that for him, enough was never enough. That he was never happy until he had it all, and sometimes not even then. That he never knew contentment when it stared him in the face, always reached for just a _bit_ more. First the goal post set here, and then there, and there, beyond where it was reasonable or sane to venture.

Hux’ life had never dictated that he settle for the reasonable.

He wouldn’t settle for the dining room table whose lineage could be traced back to the American Revolution; he had to have the one that had belonged to Benjamin Franklin himself because, Brit that he was, the man was still an icon for him. Had refused to settle for the apartment on the floor below this one, even when at first he had been told the penthouse wasn’t available, just as he refused to settle for having Ben in his life. In the penthouse that was never supposed to be his. For another man, that might have been enough. But not for Ethan Hux, who had to push for _more._ Never wanted anything more than what he couldn’t have, not if he cared for Ben at all.  

Hux’ life hadn’t been without its share of kissing. He’d had boyfriends, once. Had known what it was to come together under streetlights, to walk a boy up the stairs to his family’s brownstown in Queens and kiss him on the doorstep, to lets hands rove under clothing in the chill of evening, goosebumps raised on exposed skin while fingertips skimmed ribcages hidden beneath leather jackets. But all of that had been before Imperial, before he’d made the choice to dedicate his life to his firm. The name was apt; it was his empire in truth as well as name, and the trade-off, he’d told himself, pouring glasses of Pinot Noir vintage 2003 alone in an office that had become both a prison and a home, had been worth it.

He was the wealthiest man in the city - one of the wealthiest in the country - and if his financial advisors did their jobs, he’d be close to the top of Forbes’ list of billionaires within the next five years. If that meant the last kiss he’d shared was one he could barely remember - shared drunkenly in the corner of a lavish bathroom at a cocktail party he’d been trying to escape - he was hardly going to spend time weeping over it.

The edges of the memory were fuzzy, a photo taken out of focus; he couldn’t even be sure of the man’s name, could only really picture the color of his shirt when he tried to capture an impression of him in his mind, a dark blue that matched the tiles of the bathroom floor. Six months ago, and it was hardly anything to miss. But kissing Ben? Kissing Ben, everything was thrown into sharp relief. It was as if the past month of his life had all taken place in the instant leading up to this, all of it lived in the expanse of a single breath, and he didn’t know how he had let himself pull Ben in like this when he’d sworn - he’d _sworn_ \- not to, but he had. Ben was solid in his arms, less frail than the person Hux had taken into his apartment. He felt substantial, like something Hux could hold onto, and Hux knew that, ten years from now, twenty, a thousand, he’d remember exactly how this felt, down to the last detail. Down to the way Ben hadn’t turned his head quite enough, his nose coming up against Hux’ cheekbone so it must have been difficult to breathe. Down to the slide of the fine fabric of his oxblood button-up when Hux’ hand wrapped around Ben’s wrist and held it fast, of its own accord. To the metallic coolness of the cufflinks Hux had shown him how to put on the evening they’d returned from Freesman Sporting Club, when Ben was still too injured to do it for himself.

Deep inside the kiss, Ben made a little noise of pleasure, a jolt of desire so strong that it made Hux go weak in the knees tingling everywhere from his bellybutton to the tips of his fingers, and in that instant, scenes from an impossible future spilled out across the canvas of Hux’ mind. Him coming home to Ben like this everyday, being greeted not with a wave from the sofa, but with Ben’s generous mouth on his. Him, taking Ben to bed and touching him in all the places that had been forbidden. Kissing not just his lips, but in the hollows he’d seen below his hipbones. Precious, hidden spaces only he would see.

Hux never placed bets whose odds he couldn’t calculate, and when Ben shifted against him, trapping his wrist between his chest and Hux’ so both of their hearts beat against it, Hux knew beyond doubting: kissing Ben was the most dangerous game he had ever played.  

“Ben,” he mumbled, into the kiss. Then, when Ben didn’t immediately react, his lips still moving underneath Hux’, more harshly, _“Ben.”_ He pushed Ben away as quickly as he had pulled him in, putting space between them where before there hadn’t been room to breathe, the air in the penthouse chilled in a way that couldn’t be burned off by the last of the afternoon sun through the windows now that Ben was no longer pressed against his chest. “I- I’m sorry. How could I? I shouldn’t have- I should never-”

And that was the crux of the thing, wasn’t it? He should never have invited Ben into his bed under the pretense of keeping him safe when he’d known all along what he wanted. Should never have played house when he had no idea what that meant. Should never have given himself permission to become accustomed to Ben’s quiet presence. Should never have learned to anticipate evenings spent lying in bed, watching crime documentaries and snatching looks at Ben, sleepy and pliant and never, _ever_ his.

Before he could do any more damage than had already been done, Hux raised his hands in front of his chest, more to keep himself from touching than anything else. If his skin brushed up against Ben’s again, there was no saying where this would end. How much worse this would get. What fresh, new ways he would find to take advantage of the boy who had come to rely on him, and worse, to trust him, when Hux had never been the type of person anyone needed to trust. Let alone someone like Ben.  

“Ben- I just need… I need to…” What he needed was to be somewhere where he wouldn’t be forced to look into Ben’s dark eyes - to see the hurt there, and the confusion. He took a few clumsy steps backwards, eyes locked traitorously on Ben even as he tripped over his own feet in his haste. “I… just need a minute. Just let me-”  

Ben didn’t say anything, just watched, soundless, as Hux fumbled for words, and he knew, if he took even one step toward Ben, he’d never turn back again. If he didn’t leave now, he’d never leave at all, the place they would go one they could never come back from.

“Please,” he begged, his voice sounding foreign to his own years. “Please forgive me. Ben, I-” But there were no words he could say to make this better, to stop Ben from looking at him the way he did, like he’d been expecting Hux to disappoint him all along, and feeling more cowardly than he ever had in his life, he stumbled blindly backward until he reached the master bedroom, where he and Ben had awoken that morning, before Hux had allowed everything to go to hell. They hadn’t made the bed, and the sheets were still rumpled from their sleeping. Hux ached at the sight; funny how eight hours could change things.

When the door was latched behind him, he pressed his back against the dark grain of the wood - breathed in and out, listening. There were no noises from the other side of it, no sign that Ben was in distress, and with a hand thrown over his eyes, he slid down until he reached the floor, then let his head fall back to bounce off of it with a dull thump. Certainly, he told himself, Ben would understand why they couldn’t - why _he_ couldn’t…

And yet, in the three hours that passed as he sat there, unmoving, the vice that had wrapped tight around Hux’ heart the moment he shoved Ben away refused to loosen.

He’d never hated himself so much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... they kissed. Please don't hate us. We go where the plot demands of us. If you feel the need to yell, you can find us on tumblr: Cat as thegoodlannister and Loke as ficlet-machine. But please don't yell too much - we're small.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: graphic description of self-harm, graphic description of bipolar depression, graphic description of wound care, description of suicidal ideation, description of disordered eating, hallucinations, dissociation, mention of panic attacks, mention of psychiatric care. 
> 
> Please take heed of these trigger warnings. If you are sensitive to any of these subjects, we suggest skipping this chapter. We are, of course, available on tumblr to provide an overview of this chapter if you are unable to read it.

Ben looked at himself in the mirror. His eyes seemed perpetually puffy, red-rimmed, blood-shot - evidence of what a stupid, disgusting, pathetic mess he was. For three days now, he’d been reduced to this; not even the drugs - not even the goddamned Zyprexa - could apparently keep him from crumbling into a heap of tears and snot and ugly, loud, pitiful sobs every other fucking hour. He was so fucking _stupid_. Of course Hux didn’t want him. Why would he? What the hell did Ben have to offer to a man like that? Nothing - that was what he had. Unless you counted a never-ending parade of madness and issues and a complete and utter fucking inability to act like a fucking person even for one goddamned minute.

He hated the way he looked, which was exactly why he continued. Today’s theme seemed to run along the lines of forcing himself to list every single thing that was wrong, bad, stupid, pathetic, unattractive, repulsive, or any other of a long list of derogatory terms he could think of about himself - and Ben could think of a whole lot of those. The easiest way was usually to put himself in front of a mirror, making himself face what everyone else saw when they looked at him: a freak, a failure, a waste of space who should have done everyone a favour and gone straight from the ER to the nearest subway and jump in front of a train.

Everything had looked like it was going alright for once, so of course Ben had to go and fuck it all up. Of course. The worst part of it all was that he wasn’t even surprised - he’d been waiting for this to happen all along, hadn’t he? He’d known that in the end this was all a pipe dream, and he’d end up alone and unwanted. _Again_. It irked him that he couldn’t remember which one of them moved first, but he had a very strong feeling that it had been him. Hux wouldn’t do something that stupid; that was a level of complete fucking idiocy that only Ben Solo could manage, and now he just had to face the consequences. He kissed Hux - who was probably not even a little queer, whose signals Ben had obviously just misinterpreted, whose list of things he wanted in a partner was probably everything that Ben wasn’t - and by doing so he’d most likely sent himself and his stupid, ugly, pathetic, useless ass right back out on the street. ‘Paint the wall’, Hux had said - but that was before. _Paint the wall_ … Yeah, maybe he should at least do that. It wasn’t as if he could ever pay him back in any other way. Right now he wished he did - that he could just pull out a wad of cash form a pocket, put it on the table and leave. But then again, if he had been able to do that, he wouldn’t have gotten himself into this fucking mess to begin with. He had nothing, _was_ nothing, _deserved_ nothing - he’d always known that, but the knowledge had never, _ever_ , hurt this much before.

A few strands of his hair fell in his face as he leaned closer to the mirror, and he ran his hand through them to tuck them back in, his grip hardening until he was pulling - _hard_ \- eyes tearing up from a wholly different kind of pain. It was so easy in the end, wasn’t it? To just slip back into all his old behaviours, to just give up, give in, not even bother to fight it anymore, because what would be the point of that? It wasn’t as if anyone would care. It wasn’t like he had anything or anyone to try and fight for anymore. Yes, it was easy. At least he knew that these things worked. They gave him those little moments, that temporary peace that he needed. It was just so he could make it through that whole painting affair without anyone noticing too much. Just so he could pay what he owed. Just so he could get out of here with a shred of dignity intact, so he could go and die somewhere where no one would bother to try and stop him. A part of him was terrified of what he was thinking and feeling - he could feel it somewhere in the back of his mind - fighting against all of this with everything it had, but Ben just couldn’t muster the energy to battle himself right now.

Enough was enough, and this blow had simply hit too hard.

He took a new, better grip, not allowing himself to look away from his image as he felt how tufts of it came loose from his scalp. It wasn’t until Millie jumped up on the counter next to the sink, mrrowing in that very loud, demanding, and completely impossible to ignore way that meant she wanted food, that he came back to himself a little. Dark tufts of hair were scattered all over the pristine white surface of the sink, his hands full, and he hurried to clean it all away - making sure it wasn’t too obvious that some hair was missing from his head - and went to give Millie her breakfast. Having forgotten that before he went into the bathroom to wallow in his own misery didn’t exactly help his current state of mind, and he added that to the list of things that were wrong about him. Breakfast for himself was obviously out of the question. He didn’t have the right, didn’t deserve it. It wasn’t as if anyone would notice anyway; he hadn’t even seen Hux since… _that_ happened.

\---

A week. It had been a whole week now, since Ben went and ruined the single best thing that had ever happened to him, and he couldn’t believe Hux hadn’t just thrown him out yet. But then he reminded himself that no, he still needed to manage to create something on that giant wall first. Had to pay what he owed, had to give back - even if it was just.. some stupid paint and one of Ben’s mediocre designs. It wouldn’t surprise him if Hux had people in to paint it over the second Ben was out the door. It was probably just him trying to… yeah, what? Be nice? Lessen the sting? Give Ben some time to find other options? The only option he had was the shelters again - and knowing how many women and kids there were out on the streets, how the fuck could he go there and take up space that someone else deserved more? No, Ben had his bag packed already, the warmest clothes he had were carefully folded and stuffed into an old duffel bag of some description that he’d found in Hux’ guest closet - hopefully the man would forgive him for taking it. He had half a plan to have it sent back as soon as he’d found another, but then again, he didn’t plan on sticking around long enough to need a new one.

The first few days had been one big maelstrom of anger and self-hatred, and panic, and tears, and more panic, and even more hatred, and though he still felt all of it - the anxiety crawling like maggots under his skin, along his spine, pain weighing down his heart, constricting his lungs, his head _never ever shutting the fuck up_ \- it was becoming so hard to even tell which was which, and he struggled to even make it out of bed. It was just… well, someone more poetic would’ve probably called it ‘agony,' or ‘utter despair,’ but Ben wasn’t poetic and he knew his depressions when he saw them. Last time he’d felt like this was right before that last stay at the psych ward - the whole whopping three months of it. He couldn’t stop himself from wondering if anyone would even find him in time to keep him alive if he went the same way again this time around. Some parts of his mind really wanted to try, other parts were desperately trying to come up with even the tiniest reason to last a little longer. There were these two parts that on the one hand just wanted to stay in bed, sleep forever, never get up again, and on the other so desperately wanting to hold on to some scrap of a hope that if he did that painting well enough - _if he could do something beautiful enough_ \- then maybe he could make Hux want to keep him around.

It was so exhausting.

He wanted to talk to Hux, wanted to plead with him for forgiveness, ask him if they could just forget he ever did that, tell him he’d do anything to have his warm hand on the small of his back again, see him smile, hear him say his name that way again… He wanted _Hux_. All of him. He wanted more than he had any right to even think about thinking about, but he would settle for anything; as long as he could exist somewhere in the same little universe - know that Hux could stand looking in his direction - that would be enough. Because Ben knew the reason everything hurt as much as it did now - he was many things but not unintelligent - he knew full well how he came to crash this hard this time.

Because Ben knew that the second he’d laid eyes on Hux - back when he was a bleeding mess on the floor of Imperial’s admin department - he’d been his. He’d fallen so completely it had taken him up until that moment, that kiss, for him to fully realize exactly how, and how deeply, he really felt. Life was, Ben thought, a fucking _bitch_.

But he couldn’t talk to Hux, no matter how much he wanted to - because Hux had done what everyone did; Hux had pushed him away, rejected him, refused him. And Ben knew that when you’re pushed away like that, you wait. If you know what’s good for you, you wait until the other person decides they can stand the sight of you. You wait until they deem you worthy of being in their presence. Han and Leia had taught him well. He could go weeks without even being noticed if he had to. Possibly months. The routine was something he knew by heart after so many years of avoiding becoming the target of their anger. He’d begun avoiding the Zyprexa, sleeping lightly and waking early, just to make sure he could hear Hux leave before he even thought about leaving the guest room. Then he fed Millie, and spent a few hours sitting on the floor - to make sure he didn’t accidentally get dirt or anything on it, or sit where he wasn’t allowed - and planned the painting. When lunch rolled around, he hid in the guest room, just in case Hux came home for some reason. He never did, but Ben knew one could never be too careful. After the coast could be deemed clear, he ventured out again, and spent another few hours planning, before he fed Millie her evening meal, and went back into the guest room. This space wasn’t his to occupy, and he refused to make this situation even worse by being in the way, by being where he wasn’t wanted. Completely foregoing the dishwasher, he made sure to not only wash everything he used immediately, but to put them back exactly where he took them the second he’d dried them off. One could never be too careful, and if it was something Ben was good at, it was being invisible. When you were invisible, no one yelled at you, no one hit you, no one could be disappointed in you. Most importantly, no one ever noticed you were falling apart.

No one needed to know.

No one needed to know how many hours a day Ben spent sitting on the bathroom floor, twirling the expensive safety-razor Hux had given him - knowing exactly how to make it decidedly _un_ safe - and wondering if this time was the time he’d do it; pick it apart and give himself some temporary relief. No one needed to know he finally cracked yesterday. No one needed to know how many hours he spent looking out the windows, wondering how many thoughts he’d manage to think before he hit the ground; how he had to keep himself from looking for a way to test his theory. No one needed to know that he was rapidly, intentionally, losing all the weight he’d managed to put on - that the hunger came with its own sense of comfort. No one needed to know that he knew exactly how many Intermezzo he’d need to ‘accidentally’ take too many - that he counted them to make sure they’d be there if he needed them.

No one needed to know that there was nothing and no one in this world more dangerous to Ben Solo than Ben Solo himself.

Most importantly, _Hux_ didn’t need to know. Because Ben didn’t want him to feel bad. He mustn’t be allowed to think it was his fault, that he should feel guilt, or remorse. It wasn’t his fault Ben was the way he was. If he was completely honest with himself, he’d been looking for excuses since the day Leia threw him out. He knew how this worked, he’d done it so many times before, he knew the statistics. Ben was like his granddad; crazy, useless, abnormal, a burden, and a failure - he was wired this way, and if he self destructed it was no one’s fault. It was something to be expected. It’s what crazy people did, after all. Wasn’t it? They self-destructed. They found excuses, and they went with them - because they were selfish like that. Because _Ben_ was selfish like that. He didn’t want Hux to waste a single tear on his behalf, because he had never been worth it. It would be a favour, Hux would understand that eventually. One day, he’d learn all about who Ben had been, and he’d breathe a sigh of relief at having dodged that bullet. Of course he would - _Han and Leia_ had said they would, and they were his _parents_. Hux had even less of a reason to feel sad.

\---

The art project - ‘The Damned Wall,' as Ben had named it in his head - turned out to be a little bigger than he initially thought. Hux’ TV was mounted on that wall, and there was some sort of low shelf in front of it - attached to the wall with several screws, for safety reasons, he guessed. He’d have to move the couch back, somehow get the TV down from there without breaking it, dropping it, accidentally squashing Millie with it, or managing to damage something else as he moved it. Then the shelf had to come away. That was a full day’s work all on its own, with Ben’s rapidly diminishing energy and strength. Then he had to clean the wall, base-coat it, draw the sketch full scale, and then he could get to the painting bit.

The cleaning lady, whose name he still didn’t know, had come to his aid and had lent him a few screwdrivers and other tools she kept among her equipment ‘just in case.' Ben decided not to question why she felt she might need them, and he was relieved to find that she didn’t ask any questions about his project or generally ragged appearance either. They had an understanding, it seemed. Still, it was a fucking nightmare to get everything away, especially the part where he tried to work out where to put things so they wouldn’t be in the way or annoy Hux. He’d moved the couch, the carpet, the coffee table, and everything around it several feet back - making sure it still looked exactly the same, just to be sure.

In the end, he put the TV down on the dining room table and moved the little shelf out into the hallway. It was the best could do, and he hoped he wouldn’t be in trouble for taking liberties.

The cleaning and preparing of the surface was fairly easy, if not very exciting, but it still took one whole day before he could bring himself to actually start applying the colours. He’d re-arranged the drop cloth and the paint and brushes at least forty times, a sudden need to have everything perfectly organized gripping him. Once he had all the little buckets of paint lined up so straight it was bordering on the ridiculous, he forced himself to just get started. It’s not like it was the fucking Last Supper or anything - it was just the fucking New York skyline, with Imperial Marketing’s building smack in the middle. And besides, he was doing it in a messy, modern style, all vibrant colours and bold black outlines - if he fucked something up, chances were no one would notice anyway. Or so he hoped. He’d worried himself up the walls about the design for days, until he realized that since it was obvious Hux was more or less married to his company, it was the only fitting thing to put on that wall. It was the only thing that was Hux enough, and the only thing he could think of that would actually fit in with the rest of the decor. But even after he’d drawn it all up, he knew it would take a while for him to complete it. It really was a huge wall, and the paint wasn’t the most quick drying type - so he’d have to be extremely methodical about the whole thing, but he guessed there were benefits to that, too. They were just hard to see at the moment.

\---

“Are you even listening to me?”

Hux started, blinking to clear his vision as his head nearly slipped from where he rested it in his hand. The grey walls of his conference room came back into focus in increments and, along with them, two of the last people on earth he wanted to see. Jessika and her personal assistant sat across from him, Mitaka on his left side - the four of them the only people at the oversized table. The day before, when they’d spoken on the phone, Jessika had made it seem that she had an entire team planning to join her, and Hux had chosen the conference room accordingly; this afternoon, she’d arrived with only her assistant, who looked even younger than Jessika herself, in tow.

Hux hadn’t gotten much sleep last night, his head throbbing in time with the tap of Mitaka’s pen on the table, and unable to take it for even a moment longer, he plucked the pen from Mitaka’s fingers and slammed it down in front of him with enough force that Mitaka flinched.  

“I’m sorry, was there something you needed to write down?” he asked, scathing, and Mitaka shook his head emphatically, his mouth clamped shut. Perhaps it had been an overreaction, but Hux couldn’t help his gruff mood. He hadn’t slept well since Ben had taken up sleeping in the guest room again - and just whose fault was that, where was the boy supposed to sleep when Hux had locked him out of the bedroom they’d shared for the past month? - and with each passing day, word spread through the the firm’s hallways that their CEO was on the warpath. He might have resented the rumors of his ill temper more if they weren’t so true, but as it was, they at least kept people out of his way.

Hux turned back to Jessika.  “Yes, I’m listening. I can assure you that I’ve heard everything you’ve had to say for the past - oh, three hours now.” He hardly bothered to conceal the yawn that escaped his mouth with the back of his hand. Truly, he couldn’t muster the energy to appear engaged. His eyes felt gritty when he opened them, like they’d been washed with sand; they’d been reddened already that morning, when he splashed water on his face before heading to the office, and he was sure they were worse now, well and truly bloodshot, as if he’d been on an all-day bender, despite the fact that he’d managed to fall asleep on the sofa in his office sometime after lunch. The sleep had been a fitful one, and he’d thrashed about so much that he’d woken himself by nearly throwing himself on the floor at one point.

He’d debated calling Ben then, since he was awake, and he knew that Ben should have been just waking up from his own nap to eat lunch for himself. A few days ago, he wouldn’t have thought have twice about it, would have passed the next ten minutes listening to Ben mumble his way through half-sentences as he returned to wakefulness, and that alone would have given him the fortitude to make it through this three ring circus of a meeting.  But now, things between them were strained. Worse than strained - nonexistent, they hadn’t shared a single word - and the thought had been enough to tighten Hux’ throat dangerously, leaving him so unsettled that returning to sleep was an impossibility.  

Instead, he’d risen and walked to the window of his office, his jacket rumpled, staring at the cars below despondently until Mitaka had buzzed up, letting him know Jessika and her assistant had checked in downstairs. It had been an absolute waste of an hour that should have been spent preparing for her visit, but Hux hadn’t been able to think of anything other than whether Ben had remembered to eat lunch at all. Which was ridiculous, because Ben was an adult and had made it this far. He didn’t need Hux to remind him when to eat, and he _certainly_ didn’t need his desire poorly disguised as concern. Calling Ben might have been what Hux needed, but it wasn’t what _Ben_ needed, he told himself, even as his fingers wrapped around his phone and held onto it, a solid weight in his hand.

All he would have to do was press the button, or say the word, and he could have heard Ben’s voice. But he’d promised himself he wouldn’t - and he hadn’t.

He hadn’t seen Ben before work that morning. The door to the guest room he’d occupied the first night Hux had brought him home - and just what in the hell had Hux been thinking, doing that, bringing Ben into his apartment like he belonged there, like it would end any other way than this? -  had been firmly closed, just as it had been the night before when Hux had finally left the office well past 10pm. The late hours had been necessary, he’d justified to himself when the guilt gnawed at his stomach; he couldn’t go into this meeting with Jessika blind, not like he had last time. Not if he wanted to get anything accomplished. If he’d spent his last hours behind his desk staring blankly at his computer screen, refreshing his email and trying not to remember how much better the sticky rice he’d ordered tasted when he shared it with Ben - well, nobody needed to know that but he and janitor, who’d been greeted with a scowl when he waved at Hux through the frosted glass of his office door.

When he allowed himself to think on it, which wasn’t often, he realized he’d hardly seen Ben at all since Hux had gone and… done what he’d done. Taken advantage of him the way he had, and how could Hux blame him? The fact that he had stayed at all was a miracle. The fact that he was still painting Hux’ living area - and he must have been, because a dropcloth had been placed in front of the wall, his television taken down - even moreso. Hux couldn’t touch the tenuous balance that kept Ben there, wouldn’t risk upsetting it. And each time he came through the door to realize the only evidence of Ben’s presence was a collection of painting supplies - organized as scrupulously as if Hux had done so himself - the relief in his chest was outweighed only by the pang of something else indescribable that had him reaching for the brandy before he set down his briefcase.

Which didn’t make sense, because he didn’t have anything to say to Ben. Nothing that he hadn’t already said loud and clear when he’d crushed Ben to him and kissed him for all he was worth without any consideration of what Ben might want, anyway.

“Why do I feel like you’re mocking me?” Jessika asked, her voice sharp, and Hux breathed in through his nose, praying for patience as he was returned to his current predicament. He had bigger worries than Jessika’s inability to choose a favorite shade of blue from the the swatches she’d presented.  Hux couldn’t care less that the only person who had less of an idea of what Jessika wanted than he did was Jessika herself, but for now, there was no escaping the glare she pinned him with, the sound of her nails drumming on the conference table more unforgiving than Mitaka’s pen.

“Jessika,” Hux said, scooting his chair away from the table and reaching out to sweep all the papers she’d brought along - sketches, no more than poorly imagined doodles, really, that she claimed were inspiration for the logo she expected Imperial to deliver - into a neat pile. “I haven’t the fainted idea why you’d think that. Since we sat down together, I’ve given each of your ideas nothing but the full consideration they are due.” There, he thought, that wasn’t lying. Whose fault was it that her ideas weren’t worth the paper they’d been drawn on? “This is a process. Your logo is going to be the physical representation of your company. The first image that comes to mind when people hear the name. I agree that we can’t rush this, but I think we’ve… we’ve reached a wall. For today. Only for today. That happens sometimes.”

Jessika still didn’t look convinced, glancing at her assistant, but she reluctantly stood up from the table as Hux did.  

“If you say so,” she agreed, sounding unsure. “I just really wanted to have this done by today -”

“I do say so.” There was an air of finality to Hux’ tone, and he closed the papers inside his briefcase with a snap. “You can’t devise an entire marketing campaign in a day. That’s not how this works. The only thing that’s going to come of sitting here any longer is frustration.” As if that box hadn’t been checked long ago. “Let’s take a few days. Allow me to look over what you’ve come up with. I’ll get my design team on it, and when we reconvene, we’ll have something worth looking at. Right now we’re just spinning our wheels, but I’ve no doubt they can really get us moving. In the meantime, you can…”

_Take a look at alternate marketing firms?_ His mind supplied unhelpfully, and Hux bit his tongue. The lack of sleep was wearing on him, making him reckless. Stupid. However little he looked forward to working with Jessika, this was an important account. She had money to spend, and Hux would be damned before she spent it somewhere else. All he had to do was gain her trust, secure the account, and he could pass her on to one of his executives - someone who had managed to piss him off in the past year, preferably. If he played his cards right, he’d never have to speak to her again, the only contact they would have the holiday cards Mitaka sent out to Imperial’s clients on Hux’ behalf every December.  

“In the meantime,” he tried again, his words measured, “you can look through logos of other companies whose marketing strategies and general aesthetics you admire. Gather ideas from there. Collect the things you like - clip them out of magazines if you must. At least that will give us somewhere to _start.”_ He surprised himself by successfully keeping the malice out of his voice, though he couldn’t disguise his exasperation. It was there as soon as he opened his mouth.

Wisely, Mitaka didn’t have a word to say to him as he stalked through the hallways after she’d finally, _blessedly,_ taken her assistant and her lack of practical ideas and _left him the hell alone_ , and Hux made it back to his office and through half a cup of coffee - not sweet enough by half and cut with regular 2% milk - before he lost it entirely. The papers he’d taken from the conference room were spread across his desk, mocking him, and he’d stared at them for so long his eyes were starting to cross when he swept his hand across the surface to send them all skittering to the floor.

“Shit” he muttered, desperation creeping in as he took stock of the mess, leaning back in his chair and threading his hands through his hair. “They’re all absolute _shit.”_ And they were, some of the most hopeless work he’d ever seen. The most he could hope for, he thought, was that Jessika was more skilled at interior design than she was at graphic art - though that wasn’t a bet he would have put money on. It wasn’t the first time he had worked with a client who didn’t have the first clue what they were doing or what they wanted from him, but Hux had never felt this shaken, and when he shoved himself up from his chair, again headed over to the window to look down on a city he wasn’t truly a part of, he knocked his coffee onto its side so that it spilled across his desk.

“Goddammit it,” he swore, a drip of it landing on the leg of slacks. It wasn’t hot enough to burn - hadn’t been even when Mitaka returned from Starbucks with it, without Hux even having to ask. His mood had been so foul that his assistant would likely have erected a coffee shop in the lobby himself if it would have quelled Hux’ frustration.  

Mitaka must have heard the commotion, because he was knocking at the door to his office even before Hux started to mop up the spill with one of Jessika’s more abysmal sketches, and Hux growled at him when he entered, righting the cup, which had landed on its side.

“Mitaka, did I ask for your help?” he snarled, whirling to face his assistant at the first creak of the door. The man looked terrified, his hands clasped in front of his chest, wrung together, and for a moment, Hux almost felt guilty. Almost.  But then he thought of the piece of shit sketches on the floor and the sub-par coffee he’d been subjected to and the quiet, quiet penthouse he would return to when he couldn’t justify staying here any longer. He thought of Ben’s hair and his smile and the way he smelled when he got out of Hux’ shower (a smell Hux hadn’t known he had noticed until he missed it) and how he shouldn’t have been able to miss those things when the person who made them all possible was still sleeping just across the hall from him and suddenly, Mitaka’s discomfort failed to register at all.

His assistant still hadn’t answered him, was standing there stupidly, his mouth moving but no words coming out. Hux had rarely hated anything as much as he hated his slicked-back hair in that moment; the style had gone out of favor in the 1980s, and it wasn’t doing him any favors.

“When your presence is required,” he forced out, through clenched teeth, “I can promise, you’ll _know._ Until then, I’d appreciate it if you could leave me to my privacy. You’re my assistant, not my nursemaid, and if you’d like to retain that title, I suggest you close that door and return to work on the slew of requests I’ve no doubt are clogging your inbox.” Mitaka’s adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed. Someone had done him the favor of stringing a strand of garland, green and garrish, above the door to his office, Hux noted; he hoped it wasn’t Mitaka, for his sake.  

“Go!” he snapped, making a shooing motion with his hand. “Certainly you can find some more valuable use of your time than standing here gawking at me. But on the chance that I’m wrong and you’ve exhausted the list of everyone in the market for my attention today, take the rest of the afternoon. I’ll pay you just not to have to look at you.” It seemed a fair trade, as far as Hux was concerned. He would have paid for solitude on a good day, and this was hardly a good day.

“I- I just thought I heard… there was a commotion. I- I wanted to make everything was… that _you_ were alright,” Mitaka stammered, tremulous. It reminded him of Ben, and it was all Hux could do not to hurl the lackluster and now half-empty cup of coffee at the place where his head poked through the door. _Nothing_ was alright; everything felt wrong, like wearing a shoe that didn’t fit. That pinched your toes with every step - merely uncomfortable in the morning, when he woke to an empty apartment, the kitchen expansive and echoing without the sounds of Ben’s puttering to fill it, but damn near unbearable by the end of the day, when he opened the door to the swelling chords of Schubert’s _Symphony in B Minor._  (Schubert had left the symphony unfinished in his lifetime, and in the past week, Beru had selected it so often he couldn’t help but feel that even his home entertainment system was judging him.)

Hux must have drifted off for a moment because when he came back to himself, Mitaka was looking at him just as much in concern as in fear. _“Are_ you alright, sir?”

He sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging when he released the breath. “Yes, Mitaka. I’m _fine._ Just tired. And not in the mood for conversation.” _And I might just be the most unfeeling man in the city._ Which hadn’t bothered him before, but the title chafed now that he suspected it was true. Hux ran a hand over his face; he’d woken up too late to shave this morning, and his beard felt scratchy and unkempt. “I meant what I said. Please, take the afternoon. In fact, take everyone on this floor with you. I want to be left alone for the duration of the day - no interruptions.” Mitaka hesitated with his hand still on the doorknob, though there could be little doubt of how much he wished he had never opened the thing in the first place.  

“Do it,” Hux repeated, his words growing clipped again at Mitaka’s hesitation. “Oh, and Mitaka? Whatever you do, don’t breathe a word of this to Phasma. If you value your position, she’ll know proceedings today have been business as usual, am I making myself clear?”

He must have, because Mitaka squeaked out an acknowledgement and scurried off so quickly he left the door to Hux’ office ajar. Sighing again, bone deep and weary in a way that no amount of sleep would fix, Hux got up to close it. Once it was shut, he turned the lock until it let out a satisfying _click_ , then leaned his back up against it, as if that alone would keep the rest of the world out. On this floor, the glass between the few offices was so thick that Hux was left in complete silence, the kind that buzzed in his ears; Hux relished it. There was 8.25 million people in New York City, and he had never felt more disconnected from all of them.

And yet there was only one that mattered. Only one he’d ever _wanted_ a connection to, from the very first. Hux had spent a lot of time alone - most of his life - but it was only now that he’d met Ben that he understood what it meant to be lonely. He wished he’d never found out.

Once, Phasma had accused him of spending his nights sulking in his office. Well, he thought, he would show her; he was just as capable of spending his days the same way.

\---

Only a few more days now, Ben told himself. Only a few more days, then the painting was done, over, _finished_ \- and he’d be back to square one again. It wasn’t really the painting itself that was the problem right now, even though every stroke of the brush sure as fuck came with a new wave of anxiety - like a countdown, and Ben really didn’t look forward to it hitting zero. The problem was that he was back to that same state he’d been in before he came here, if not worse; focusing became increasingly difficult, he kept spacing out, having to pause to battle (and often lose) against strong impulses to do bad shit to himself, kept having about every single severity of panic attacks possible. It was _so_ hard to stay in the present, so hard to keep himself within his skin. It felt like he was becoming blurry, like the edges of him were thinning; like he was somehow dissolving into something… unreal, ghostlike - a walking corpse. It didn’t help that his thoughts tended to turn more morbid by the second the worse he got, and his mind was an inferno of feelings, impulses, thoughts, images that he knew would have landed him in a padded room for a very long time had he been stupid enough to voice them out loud. Speaking of voices, they were back too. Nagging, creeping, slimy whispers in the back of his mind, claiming more space by the day - sometimes he swore he could hear them outside his head too, but he tried really hard to ignore it. Bad stuff happened when he listened to the voices, and things were bad enough as it was.

The insides of his thighs were his own little roadmap of weak moments, of mistakes, of reminders of his lack of worth, of how fucked up he was, of how hard he was still fighting. He knew better than to let his sharp nails, or the razor, or the scalding hot water, or anything else anywhere near his arms or any place that would be visible - just in case. While he was a pro at hiding it and explaining everything away, he also knew that if Hux saw it and asked, chances were that everything would just get worse. He’d always hated that whole ‘a cry for help’ bullshit. Maybe it was for other people, but not for him. It wasn’t something he wanted to talk about at all, because no one would understand anyway - they all just applied whatever explanations they preferred, and forced Ben into them. In reality he just… he just _needed_ it, dammit! His granddad had had his drugs - Ben had this. It was just his escape door. Just something that might have been all kinds of morbid and gross and fucked up and dangerous and bad, but that actually fucking _helped_ . It wasn’t exactly as if he’d ever had anyone else around to help him out. His therapists? _What a joke_. Diagnosis aside, he’d only ever been an exotic puzzle to them, a walking ICD-10 code, a lab rat to test medications on. They didn’t care. Han and Leia? When Han had found out, he’d almost had Ben back in the ER for a completely different reason, and Leia had forbidden him from wearing long sleeves for months, randomly barging into his room ‘to make sure he wasn’t doing that disgusting stuff’ to other parts of himself. No, it was better to keep it secret.

It wasn’t as if he’d be able to explain much anyway, because right now Ben’s mind was a speeding train heading for a cliff wall, and it always scared him more than he could express in words to feel all of this, think all of this, and both be aware of it and powerless to stop it. He knew he shouldn’t have gone off the Zyprexa, knew that there were very few things he could do that were more stupid than that, but he couldn’t bring himself to _care_. He’d need to go and get more of it, anyway, and right now the thought of even looking at another person sent him to his knees, hyperventilating and crying, from the sheer terror of it.

Time was difficult too. He kept losing hours here and there, and he wasn’t completely sure he hadn’t actually lost a day or two as well. It should be closing in on two weeks or so now, since he’d gone and effectively ruined his life, but considering how he struggled with remembering what he was doing an hour ago, he couldn’t be entirely sure. The only good thing about losing so much time was that it also meant he forgot about meals. Hux had supplied him with a large amount of yogurts and little portion packed puddings and nutrition bars, but even that had started to run a little low. While he knew he should probably have been all out by now - and had more ordered by a Hux who’d be asking him if he was sure he didn’t also want to try this flavour or that, or if this nutritional drink was something that was actually drinkable - there still weren’t too many left, and that was a problem.

It wasn’t as if Ben could just go out and buy more; he didn’t have any money and his card was just a debit card - Han and Leia had used his manias as an excuse to keep him from owning a credit card, despite him never having gone on any sort of spending spree during his few manic episodes - and he owned exactly five dollars in cash. That five-dollar bill had been in his right front pocket when he’d put his fist through those screens, and he doubted anyone would accept a bill with half its surface covered in dried blood. And even if he had had money, he’d still be forced to go outside, and even though Hux had taken him on little walks around the building before, Ben really didn’t know where to go from there. He wasn’t used to being in these super fancy neighbourhoods, born and raised over in Jersey as he was. Sure, he didn’t exactly grow up in poverty - far from it - but even that house seemed very low-class in comparison to the surroundings here. Besides, given his state of mind, he’d probably get lost anyway, or get hit by a car by failing to notice oncoming traffic. And even if he went outside - he couldn’t remember the security codes. Numbers just weren’t something that agreed with him, and he always got them mixed up. He’d be effectively locked out, with no way of getting back in.

No, better to ignore all of that bullshit for now. It wasn’t as he felt much hunger anyway. He’d be fine.

\---

There was blood on his sheet when he woke up, and Ben let out a very long string of profanities. He thought he’d wrapped his thigh up properly the night before, despite being startled by Beru turning on some classical music and thereby announcing Hux’ return to the penthouse. But in his haste to clear away the evidence, it seemed he’d been sloppy, and now there was blood on his fucking sheet, and it had already started drying and this was bad. So very fucking _bad_.

With violently shaking hands, he more or less ripped the bedding off the bed, checking all of it. There were a few stains on the duvet as well. _Shit_ . Turning on the faucet in his bathroom, making sure it was set as hot as it could go, he brought the sheet and duvet in as well, soaking the places he’d bled on, adding some soap and scrubbing frenetically despite the water burning like all hell on the skin of his hands. The stains would never come out completely, but right now he just needed them to be less noticeable. There was a reason he always had dark sheets and covers in his old bed, dammit! White was a fucking _stupid_ colour to put in a bed to begin with, and for someone with as fucked up a head as Ben? Yeah, that was the worst idea anyone could possible have ever come up with.

When he’d gotten as much of the stain out as he could, he spread them out on the bed to dry before inspecting the damage to his thigh. He’d really been sloppy, and the bandages had stuck to the wound - which was way deeper than he’d intended, and looked irritated - forcing him to slowly peel it off. It made him nauseous, but he bit back on the sensation, focusing on the same mechanical routine as he had been practicing for years now. Inspect the damage, apply antiseptics, let it air if it’s not still bleeding, then re-wrap tightly. Good thing Hux had bought such ridiculous amounts of wound care products; Ben wouldn’t be in any risk of running out of them any time soon - he’d even packed some of it in the duffel bag. It seemed he had nicked an older scar, which would explain why it had been bleeding so badly. This would need a bandage for at least another day before he could leave it be. _Fuck_. It was always harder to hide them when he had layers of ace bandages wrapped around some body part, affecting his movements, making him feel even more awkward than usual.

Once he was finished, he spent a few extra minutes listening to make sure the silence was of the ‘empty space’ kind, and not the ‘person present but not being very loud’ type. Satisfied that he was alone, he headed for the living room to get started - hoping to get at least a little bit further than yesterday before his brain fucked everything up again.

\---

Hux pulled his coat up higher around his neck, burying his nose in his scarf and hunching his shoulders as he braced himself against the wind. With mid-December had come true winter weather, bitterly cold and biting - nothing like the New York shown on postcards. The only snow on the ground was left over from a dusting the week before, gone brown and muddied now that it had been tracked over by so many pairs of feet, though overhead, the night sky remained clear and bright. A fine sheen of ice had settled over the sidewalks, making each step treacherous, and Hux chose his footing carefully as he crossed the street to his car, his lungs tight, breath hanging frozen in the air with each exhale. Friday night, and almost no one was out. The city seemed deserted in its aching cold, the shadows thrown by headlights of passing cars every now and again the only things to cross his path.

He’d left Imperial so late that night he’d needed the janitor from his floor to escort him to the doors, so he could lock them behind him on his way out. By now, everything in the city that wasn’t a bar or a hospital was closed, their owners at home, tucked away behind frosted windows, but frozen as he was, Hux didn’t relish the thought of returning to his penthouse. If Ben was still awake, the two of them would pick up the awkward dance they’d perfected the few times they’d encountered each other since the kiss, Ben retreating to the guest bedroom as if even looking at Hux was too much to bear, now that he knew what the man wanted from him; if he wasn’t, Hux would have to face an empty apartment. He wasn’t sure which of the two he dreaded more.

As he wrenched open the door to his town car, the warmth of the interior a welcome respite, his stomach tightened, rumbling in protest. It was well onto midnight by now, and he couldn’t remember how many hours had passed since the last time he’d ingested something more substantial than coffee. At least since lunch, however long that had been. He’d spent so little time at the penthouse lately, he couldn’t be sure what he had there that could be eaten, and hadn’t yet gone bad  - some of Ben’s yogurt cups, maybe? His pudding? Or had Ben eaten all of that? Hux had thought he’d stocked up well enough, but that had been well over a week ago.  

The guilt that settled over his shoulders was a familiar companion by now. Whether or not he still had the right to approach Ben himself, he’d have to make sure the boy had things to eat in the apartment, but it was too late to think on that tonight.  Hux flexed his fingers in his fingerless gloves, still stiff with cold and stuffed deep in his pockets, and wasn’t it funny how he didn’t have a clue what he’d had for lunch, but he could still remember just how it had felt when his hand rested on the small of Ben’s back, when his thumbs had rubbed circles over the pulsepoints on his wrists to calm him?

(How it had felt to have that wrist trapped between his chest and Ben’s, fast in Hux’ hold, like there was nowhere else in the world he would ever be.)

That… well, _that_ was a hunger he couldn’t quell, one he couldn’t even allow himself to think about,  but his stomach was relentless. Dumping coffee into an empty stomach was never a good idea, he knew, and while he might have been able to pull that off in twenties, he wasn’t in his twenties anymore. What he needed was something warm, and hearty, and filling.  Something that would fill not just the hole in his stomach, but the empty ache that had taken up residence in his chest the moment Ben had taken up residence in his guest bedroom. There were only a few places he knew of that would still be serving at this hour, the brightly lit signs in their windows and the warm smell of their spices beckoning those drunk or crazy or sad enough to be out at his hour to come inside.  

As Hux instructed his driver of where to turn before delivering him at his building, he had no illusions about which of those categories he fell into.

\---

The paper bag was heavy in Hux’ hand, damp with condensation from the heat trapped inside. He’d eaten enough take-out that he knew when it was threatening to break through, and Hux tucked it against his side as he entered his security code and wedged open the door to his apartment. Even from inside its little plastic containers, the smell of curry was fragrant enough that Hux’s mouth watered; he hadn’t eaten Indian in _weeks,_ and he’d ordered his favorite, paneer makhani, with extra spice. Why not, he’d figured - he’d never had trouble stomaching spicy food, and it wasn’t as if he’d be sharing it with someone who did. He may have ordered enough for five people, but he’d be eating this alone.

Inside the apartment, it may as well have been deserted, though he knew Ben was there.  Where else would he have gone? It was darkened, not a single light left on save for the one above the oversized brass sink in the kitchen, and it appeared Millicent had followed Ben to bed, because there was no sign of her. Not that that was any surprise. He saw nearly as little of her as he saw of Ben. As the door clicked shut behind him, Hux shivered; while it was certainly warmer inside than out, there was a distinct chill in the air, as if Ben hadn’t thought to bump up the heat earlier in the afternoon, when the temperature had dropped. The thought worried him - he hoped Ben hadn’t sat in this chill all afternoon, but if he’d gotten lost in his work on the wall, there was a good chance he hadn’t even taken notice of it.

With a sigh, Hux nudged the heat up by a few degrees, then, without troubling himself to remove his coat, made his way to the kitchen. He could drive himself crazy thinking about the things Ben did or didn’t do when he wasn’t here to see it, and what good would that do? He’d given up his right to know what was happening in Ben’s life the moment he’d decided what his dick wanted was more important than allowing Ben to figure out what he wanted for himself.

He ate standing over the sink, not even the spice of the tomato sauce enough to cut through his apathy. It tasted good, he thought numbly, swiping his sleeve across his mouth, then immediately chastising himself for doing so - _who was he becoming, Phasma?_ \- but it just didn’t matter one way or the other. He might as well have been eating paste for as much as he enjoyed it, even the action of chewing mechanic and tiring. The people at _Malai Marke_ had been happy to see him, had said they’d been afraid he’d lost his taste for Indian food, and Hux had laughed at that. But now, he thought, digging into a container of basmati rice he hadn’t bothered to empty onto a plate with a fork he’d grabbed directly from the dishwasher, that might have been true.

He might have lost his taste for _everything,_ if even paneer makhani no longer inspired him. All the better for his heart, he supposed. He wouldn’t let the organ go the way his father had - though if that was the case, shouldn’t it have hurt less than it did?

When he was finished, Hux rinsed his fork thoroughly and placed it in the same rack of the dishwasher where he’d found it, then shoved the leftovers back into the bags they’d come from and into the refrigerator, where they would go to rot until the next time Phasma raided his apartment for food. There was a solemn comfort in the routine, the kind it would take more than a month for him to lose, and his hands moved through the motions by rote. He couldn’t say how many meals he’d eaten standing directly over this sink, the blanket of the New York night as his backdrop. This was his life, the one he had chosen, the one he had learned to live with; if he’d wanted something else, 33 years into it wasn’t the time to come to that conclusion. Not when he’d spent so much time constructing it and the walls that came part and parcel, and as he reached for another paper bag, marked on the outside with the Chinese symbol for prosperity (or so the words printed in tiny typeface underneath told him), he didn’t allow himself to mourn what might have been had he chosen differently.

The tub of miso soup was still hot enough that he juggled it between his hands before setting it on the counter, and it still left them smarting. Maybe in another life, Ben had waited up for him to get home, and the two of them were settling down in front of the television, too late to be eating, but with the miso soup balanced on the sofa cushion between them anyway. Maybe Hux hadn’t been late at all, and already they were nestled in bed, all cold feet pressing up against each other under the covers. Maybe Hux had never founded his firm, Ben working in that little art shop the two of them had visited, and they shared a one bedroom down in the Village, where they’d never spoken the word Imperial.  

But in this life, Hux lived in a penthouse that was dark and quiet around him as he took a scrap of paper from his pocket and scribbled across it quickly, before he could think of better of it:

**_Ben, in case you get hungry when I’m not around.  -Hux_ **

Hux couldn’t have said how long he spent staring at the note and the tub of soup underneath of it, but by the time he deposited that in the refrigerator as well, he could have sworn the sky outside was tinging pink, his feet heavy with fatigue as he stumbled to the bedroom. There was nothing he wanted more than to collapse, and possibly not wake until an hour he hadn’t seen since his Princeton days, but when he passed the guest bedroom where Ben slept, he hesitated. The door had been left ajar - Millicent’s doing, probably, as Ben had seen that it was closed, effectively shutting Hux out, ever since he’d returned to it - and frozen there outside, his hand resting on the doorknob, he hardly dared to breathe. He shouldn’t look, he knew that - didn’t have any right to. Should turn away, or perhaps even close it for him. It was what he would do, if he respected Ben’s privacy.

But Ben would never know, and it had been so long since he’d gotten to _look_ at him, and he’d already fucked up so badly that there wasn’t any salvaging the situation anyway, and it was so easy to pretend it was an accident that his foot nudged open the door just that much more, that now the ever-present light from outside the windows spilled onto the floor and over the foot of the bed, where he could just make out the outline of Ben’s feet. Millicent was nestled against them, on top of the blankets, and Hux shushed her frantically when she hissed at him without even bothering to lift her head.

Miraculously, Ben - covered from head to toe, only the black of his hair visible, dark even against the darkness in the room - didn’t stir. It was the only good luck Hux had seen in nearly two weeks, and he watched Ben sleep, counting his breaths, the rise and fall of the curve of his back, for so long that, when he finally turned away, it was to the sounds - faint and far below - of a New York Saturday morning coming alive, the sky well and truly pink now, if it hadn’t been before.

Then, now - as always - Hux went to bed alone.

\---

“Ben? Hux? Don’t bullshit me; I know you’re in there! You can’t avoid me forever. Where the hell are y- _Oh my God!_ ”

Phasma’s loud voice shocked Ben back into the moment. She sounded alarmed, and he couldn’t really see why. He wasn’t doing anyth- oh. _Oh_ . Shit. So much for the whole ‘don’t hurt yourself where someone can see it’ thing. This was bad. This was so incredibly fucking _bad_ it made tears rise in his eyes. Not only had he - _apparently_ \- gone at his left forearm with the fucking exacto knife he was supposed to be using to cut a stencil he needed for the wall, resulting in blood absolutely _everywhere_ on the dropcloth, but Phasma had seen it. He was smack in the middle of the fucking living room, and he’d fucking let himself space out and hurt himself, and fucking got caught doing it, too!

He didn’t look up, only dropped the knife - _why was he still holding the knife?_ \- like it was burning hot, and reached for the nearest rag to put pressure on it. He really didn’t need to see the expression on Phasma’s face; he could imagine it just fine from all the other times someone had walked in on him in the middle of him doing this. His old roomie at college had been so freaked out he’d rushed to the bathroom and thrown up the first time he saw it. A bit excessive, Ben thought, but not everyone was as used to this as he was. It sure hadn’t stopped the guy from wanting to fuck him six ways from Sunday on a weekly basis - as long as the lights were out, which was fine with Ben. He’d never liked seeing himself naked either, so he didn’t exactly blame people for having that same preference as far as his body was concerned. Phasma was probably looking that particular pale greenish colour he’d gotten used to seeing on people who saw him do this. He guessed her eyes were wide open, brows as far up as they could go, gaze flickering as she tried to figure out whether to run out the door or yell at him.

But then he felt someone sitting down next to him, and he found himself pulled into a gentle embrace as Phasma’s hands came down to help him keep the rag tight against his arm. He felt suddenly extremely aware of his own disgusting state; he hadn’t bothered to shower yesterday - or was it the day before? or both? - and he’d been wearing these same sweatpants and paint splattered t-shirt for even longer than that. It just took energy that he really didn’t have, and what was the point anyway? It wasn’t as if he ever hung out with anyone but Millie, and given how she liked to roll around in his laundry pile as if it was her personal little heaven he doubted she minded the smell. Phasma could probably feel every bone in his body as he leaned against her, and he didn’t want to even think of what she’d think if she saw him try to get to his feet. He’d passed out doing that the other day; his blood pressure had always been shit, and now it was worse than usual.

Then, as he realized all of this, a jolt of fear ran through him. Phasma was Hux’ _best friend._ What if she-?

“I’m sorry,” he croaked, voice uncooperative after not having been used in… days, probably. “I’m so _sorry_! I didn’t mean to- I just… I’m so sorry you had to-! Please don’t tell him! _Please_! You weren’t supposed to-... Please don’t tell anyone!”

Somewhere in the middle of his panicked string of pleas he began crying, curling in on himself out of habit - bracing himself for the inevitable lecture and guilt trip that usually came with being found out. It was okay; he could take a lot of that as long as Hux didn’t find out. But Phasma just held him closer, letting him rest his head on her shoulder and rocked him gently - as if he was a frightened child, and not a 25 year old nutcase.

“Hey now,” she soothed. “What’s there to get yourself so worked up about? I promise, sweetheart, I’m not about to open my mouth to anyone. This stays between you and me, okay? But I want you to let me have a look at your arm. It’s easier to bandage something like that with a little help, and I’m better in a pinch than you’d give me credit for.” She was quiet for a while after Ben had nodded in agreement, then gently ran a hand along the side of his chest, rubbing in soothing circles. There was no way she could miss how skinny he was, and she didn’t. “Ben, honey, when was the last time you had something to eat?”

Ben’s mouth opened in response, but he clamped it shut again as another realization struck.

“W-what day is it?” he managed.

“Wednesday.”

Ben paled slightly, then blushed.

“...oh.” He swallowed hard, shame tight in his chest. “I didn’t realize… uhm… M-monday, I think…? I had some, uhm, miso.”

He felt Phasma sigh and nod against the top of his head, but the scolding didn’t come.

“Hmm, miso. A good choice - but probably not enough to sustain you for 48 hours, even if your stomach’s being iffy. It’s a good thing I’m here then; no one’s ever gone hungry when I was around. What do you say we find you something to eat that won’t make you sick? I still feel like shit for managing it once - let’s not try for a second time.” It sounded like she was smiling at the last part, so Ben relaxed a little. She didn’t sound angry or disappointed, and that was a good sign, even though it didn’t make much sense to him.

When he’d collected himself a bit, she helped him to his feet so he could clean and wrap his arm. It didn’t look too bad, he assured her. It would heal just fine - he just had to avoid getting paint all over it. Then she shared some pudding with him before they removed the dropcloth and put a new one out instead, but the sudden rush of emotions and activity made Ben’s energy run out pretty fast, and in the end he found himself tucked in under his covers with gentleness he still struggled to believe her capable of, and they watched a full show of Phasma’s favourite stand up comedian - some bald, Irish guy with a weird name, like ‘Dara’ or something like it - until Ben eventually fell asleep. He’d forgotten how safe and comforting it was to have someone in the room when going to sleep, and he was out like a light before he even managed to wish her good night.  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with us through this one. We know this made for a difficult read. If you are unfamiliar with mental illness, it may seem strange that Ben's condition went downhill so quickly, but please know that it can and does happen this quickly. Ben was, of course, not "better" after Hux took him in - though he did become slightly more stable when in a seemingly stable situation. Having that stability removed had drastic consequences. This is the reality for many people.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: slight violence, use (and perhaps overuse) of alcohol.
> 
> Be aware that Ben is still not in a good place throughout the course of his chapter, though there is certainly nothing of the level described in in chapter 11.

“What the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?”

Hux didn’t have to look up to know who had entered his office; even if the profanity hadn’t given her away, it was an unspoken rule at Imperial that, when Hux had his door closed - and it was _always_ closed - you didn’t open it. There was no one else who would have dared try it without buzzing first, and no one else who would have raised their voice at him, scolding the owner of New York City’s most successful marketing firm so loudly that everyone on the floor, as well as those in offices three floors own, must have heard.

He’d been hunched over his laptop, digging his palms into his eyes, and Hux raised his head, vision still blurry, just in time to see the his door - **_ETHAN HUX, CEO_ ** printed across the frosted glass - smash into an equally glass wall.

“For god’s sake, Phasma, lower your voice,” he complained. “We work in an office, not a-” but he was cut off before he could finish with a resounding smack to his cheek. It echoed in the still of the office, and instinctively, his hand moved to cradle his face. He’d been hit harder in his life - was surprised it hadn’t happened more often, if he was honest, given the things he’d gotten up to and the words he probably should have left unsaid - and he was under no illusions that she was capable of hitting harder, too, if she wanted to. She’d held back; still, it stung, the skin warm and tingling under his palm, the insult of it worse than the injury, shocking him into silence.

He worked his jaw for moment, opening and closing it, wounded. “What the hell, Phasma-”

“What the hell? _What the hell?”_ Phasma leaned down and planted her hands on his desk, so that her face was level with his, where he was pressed against the back of his chair, unconsciously avoiding her reach, should she decide she wanted to try it again. “You should be glad I don’t condone violence, Hux, or I would have done a lot more than that.” Hux considered telling her that she packed quite a punch for someone who didn’t condone violence, but one look at her eyes, icy blue and blazing, colder even than when she was bullying finance into giving her what she wanted, had Hux reconsidering that. Cowed, he shimmied in his chair, attempting to scoot it back without her noticing. “God knows you deserve worse than a smack to the face. I should kick your ass, you know that? Really kick your ass.”

“I’m going to kindly request that you _don’t,”_ he responded. There was a part of him that wouldn’t have minded it, that agreed he deserved nothing more than bloody nose and a knock upside the head, but he’d never been a masochist - and she _did_ have a mean swing. He had no interest in finding out what ‘really kicking his ass’ would have meant.

“Oh, well then!” Phasma near-shouted, her voice shrill, throwing her arms up in the air and stalking away from the desk. Hux couldn’t hold back his sigh of relief as she moved away from him, out of range. “The great Ethan Hux doesn’t want me to, so what choice do I have? After all, everyone knows it’s all about what _Hux_ wants, isn’t it? Who cares what anyone else wants or needs? As long as _Hux is_ happy, we should all just be happy as clams, shouldn’t we? There is, after all, no greater joy than seeing Hux get what he wants. He _is_ so often denied!” She moved about the office as she ranted, continuing to gesticulate wildly, Hux flinching with each movement.

“Alright, it’s clear at this point that I’ve done something to offend you.” That was an understatement, if ever he’d made one. For all the times he’d managed to piss her off, he’d never seen her so murderous. The only occasion that had even come close was the night he’d allowed her to think he was dying, the night he brought Ben home, and he was relatively certain the only reason he’d survived that encounter was Ben’s presence. He didn’t have that on his side this time. “So perhaps if you’d be so kind as to stop mocking me long enough to tell me _what the hell is going on,_ I could begin to address it. That is, unless you’d rather hit me again, in which case I’d rather you just get it over with.”

Phasma stopped her pacing, coming to stand on the other side of Hux’ desk, looking down on him in front of the window. The height discrepancy from this angle made him uneasy, and he would have stood, if he hadn’t known that then _she_ would have known she’d managed to intimidate him,

“Jesus Christ, Hux,” she spat. “Do you think I’m stupid? Or did you just think you could avoid me forever?”

“Stupid?” Hux said, incredulous. He reached for the macchiato he’d had Mitaka fetch for him first thing upon entering the office that morning, still half-full. “I’ve no idea what you’re on about, but-” Before he could take a sip, she was knocking the cup out of his hand, the motion as quick as the flip of a switch, and then it wasn’t only his cheek that was smarting as what was left of his coffee met with the floor.  “Phasma!” he swore, too stunned even to worry about the stain rapidly spreading across his carpet. “That was a seven dollar macchiato. I had to send Mitaka back to Starbucks three times to get it right. What the devil has gotten into you?”

“What’s gotten into _me,_ Hux? No, what’s gotten into _you?”_ She breathed out through her nose, her hands balling into fists - Hux imagined to keep from reaching out to destroy something else - but when she continued, her voice was, if not calm, then at least more level, controlled. Somehow, that was scarier.  “Tell me, Hux - how’s Ben?”  

Despite her conversational tone, the world tilted under Hux’ feet at the words, and he pushed himself out of his chair to stand nose to nose with Phasma. “Why?” he demanded, his heart threatening to beat clean out of his chest. “Has something happened to him? Oh god, have you seen him? Is he alright?” He realized he wasn’t giving her space to answer, but he couldn’t stop the questions from coming. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“Oh, so you _do_ give a shit. I was beginning to wonder.” Phasma regarded him coolly. “If there’s anyone who knows how he is, shouldn’t it be you? You live with the boy, don’t you? Or haven’t you been home recently? I know how _busy_ your work keeps you; I guess it shouldn’t be any surprise that you don’t have the time to spend on someone like Ben. I mean, it was always a distraction for you, wasn’t it - something to wile away the lonely hours at home?” Hux swallowed hard, the veracity of her words settling as a lump in his throat. He would have opened his mouth to protest, but what would he have said? Phasma had always seen the things he didn’t want to see about himself, the truth that was too ugly to name, and shame burned hot across his cheeks, his jaw clenching.

“You know, it’s funny - it was you who was so dedicated to keeping our partners from coming home with us. You were always the first one to remind me not to get to close. Not to get too invested. Just the night, you said. And always on neutral ground - don’t go letting things get _messy._ But well, you went all in the moment you had someone willing to play house with you, didn’t you, Mr. Big Shot? Dropped all that faster than you could _'houseb_ _oy.’_ ” She jabbed a finger into his chest, hard enough to bruise, forcing Hux to take a step back, so that he was met with his chair. Another step, and he would trip over it, his feet tangled up in the wheels; he was trapped.  “Talk about talking the talk and not walking the walk. You were all too happy to have Ben in _your_ apartment, on _your_ terms. Wearing _your_ goddamned clothes, Hux. Until you got bored, of course.” She scoffed.\

“And you _always_ get bored. It’s the Ethan Hux way! Play with something as long as it entertains you, then move on to the latest and greatest. What else is a man of the world like yourself to do? Can’t expect something to hold your attention for too long.” Phasma was breathing hard, and when Hux looked at her, really _looked_ at her, she didn’t appear so much angry as shaken.  He’d seen Phasma cry only once, and then only a few tears, after a bad breakup, shortly after they’d met and before Phasma had sworn off relationships - but he could have sworn her eyes were wet, the blue brighter than he’d ever seen it.

“Goddammit Hux, what were you _thinking?”_ She asked, and when her voice cracked on the last word, the lump in Hux’ throat expanded so that he couldn’t breathe.

“Phasma, what on earth are you talking about?” he said, hurriedly, though he held degrees from two Ivy League universities and he’d never been stupid. “What has any of this got to do with Ben? He’s at home - where else would he be?”

“I went over to your apartment last night,” she said suddenly, the words twisting tight in Hux’ gut, so that he couldn’t regret that the remainder of his macchiato was soaking into the carpeting rather than in his stomach. “I know when you’re avoiding me, and you’ve been in such a horrible mood - don’t deny it, you sent Mitaka home crying last week, the whole office knows about it. And I just thought… I don’t know _what_ I thought. I guess that I’d bring over some takeout, make sure the two of you were doing alright. That you weren’t fucking up in some horrible way I didn’t know about.” She ran her hand through her hair, brushing her bangs back from her face, though they immediately sprung back into place. “It was almost 10pm, Hux. I thought for sure you’d be home. But you weren’t.”

He hadn’t been. He’d been here, and so had Mitaka. Hux had forced the man to stay with him while he’d reorganized the list of clients whose projects they’d turned down in the past, but who Hux thought Imperial might be interested in partnering with in the future, under different circumstances. It hadn’t been a pressing task - it could just as easily have been handled the next day, or the one after that - but it _had_ been one that would keep him away from his penthouse, with all its reminders of Ben and the weeks they’d shared, for another few hours, and Mitaka had never valued his personal life enough to balk at what Hux asked, no matter how inane.

“I- I got caught up at the office,” Hux lied, and the worst part was how flimsy it sounded; he wasn’t sure why he bothered when they both know a lie when they saw one. “You know how it is this time of year. There’s no end to the paperwork, and I didn’t want to-”

“Didn’t wanted to what? Prove me right?” The accusation wasn’t entirely unfounded; there was little he loathed more than being wrong. “See what was happening right under your nose? Step outside of the fairytale you’d constructed with Ben at the center? He’s not a wind-up doll, Hux. You can’t just dress him up in Thannison’s clothes and expect him to recite the lines you’ve written for him. That’s not fair to him; he’s a _person_.”

The flush on Hux’s cheeks deepened at that. That wasn’t what he’d meant to do, not at all. But looking at Ben - Ben who fell asleep with his hair fanned on the pillow and who somehow woke up with it looking exactly the same, Ben who had worn the clothing Hux had bought for him like he’d been born into high end men’s fashion - the fairytale, if that’s what it was, had been easy to believe. It wasn’t Hux’ fault Ben had fit so seamlessly into his life, and he looked away, preferring his view of the city to the unforgiving accusation in Phasma’s stance.

Phasma’s eyes flashed at his hesitation. She’d always been quick as a whip, able to read him better, almost, than anyone. “You _do_ care about him, don’t you?” She said, realization dawning. “The problem isn’t that you don’t care what happens to him; the problem is that you care too much.”

“Of course I care, Phasma! The boy’s been living in my apartment for a month and a half; how could I not care?” It was Hux’ turn to pace now, shoving the high-back chair aside to stalk from one side of the office to the other, a tiger caught inside the cage of the New York skyline. “But too much? No. Not enough - not even close. If I cared too much, I wouldn’t have… wouldn’t have… dammit, Phasma, why can you never just leave well enough alone? I kissed him, alright? I kissed Ben, and now everything’s a mess and I can’t even _look_ at him without the boy flinching. And don’t you _dare_ tell me I told you so, because I know you told me so. I’m well aware of what an idiot I am; I don’t need any confirmation from you.”

Phasma let out a gasp that sounded like half a laugh. “Oh! Oh-ho. You _are_ an idiot, aren’t you? Oh, I’ll tell you, this is a damn sight, Ethan Hux.” She grabbed hold of his shoulders, halting him in his pacing, and when Hux tried to pull out of her grasp, she held tighter, her fingers digging in as she searched his face relentlessly. “You don’t just care about him. No, you _love_ this boy.”

“I- I… _no,_ don’t talk about what you don’t understand.” Hux didn’t relinquish his struggle, pulling against her hold until he wrenched his shoulder free of her hands. Warring frustration and guilt kept him from looking at her as he turned to gaze out over the city. “I don’t. I- I _can’t._ I don’t even know what that would feel like, but certainly not like… certainly not like _this.”_ Outside, the day was clear and cold, brightly colored scarves and knit hats visible only as specks of orange and pink against the grey-green of concrete and sky from so far up. If there was one thing with which he’d ever had a love affair, outside of Imperial, it was his city. He knew it well, and it knew him.  Its streets and its people, the buildings and parks, all familiar. _.._ Comfortable. Welcome. Nothing like the terrifying wash of feelings that came every time he thought of Ben, stopping him cold.

It was Phasma’s voice that broke through his thoughts, sent them scattering.  

“That’s exactly what it would feel like. And _that’s_ what you don’t like about it. You’re not fooling anyone, except for maybe yourself - and I don’t even believe that.” Phasma was standing shoulder to shoulder with him, taking in the view at his side as she had a thousand times before, as they’d discussed various business ventures, but this time, he could feel the coldness from her even with inches of empty air between the perfectly-cut shapes of their suit jackets. “You’d best get your damn head out of your ass, because what you’re doing right now? This running and hiding and leaving Ben to his own devices? That’s not working, Hux.  It’s destroying Ben, and I’ve gotta say, it’s not doing much for you either. You look like shit.”

For once, Hux ignored the jab at his appearance.

“Destroying him? Phasma, you’re giving my relationship with Ben undue importance.” But even as he said the words, he couldn’t tamp down on the visions of Ben the first time he’d seen him, covered in blood, bruises blooming in a colorful bouquet on his face. It was a moment he returned to often now, when he let his mind wander to dark places. “He’s barely known me a few months; he’s getting on just fine without me hanging over his every move; I’m certain of it.”

“Well,” Phasma said, acidly. “You’ve been certain of a lot of things, and look how far that’s gotten you. But hell, if you’re so sure, don’t bother checking on him, then. Don’t worry, I’ve got this. You aren’t the only one who cares about Ben.” She turned away from the window and adjusted the _Saint Laurent_ bag on her shoulder, left askew from when she’d swung at Hux. “You know, I was going to tell you what I found when I went to see the two of you last night, but I promised him I wouldn’t - and right now, keeping that promise to him looks a hell of a lot better than whatever it is you would or wouldn’t do with the information.” Phasma turned her back on him then, the effect of her exit amplified by the strappy, black stiletto heels that wrapped around her ankles, but she paused with her hand on the door.  

“And unless you smarten up and see what that means...” She let the silence hang for just long enough that it became a threat. “Well, congratulations, Hux, it looks like you got what you wanted. Ben won’t be your problem at all anymore.”

“Phasma, wait, I-” Hux would have gone after her, but her presence was already fading to the click of her heels on the washed concrete outside his office door, and he didn’t know what he would have said to her if he had. His cheek still stung where Phasma had struck him as he reached into his wine chiller, rummaging for his favorite Pinot and filling a glass to the top, far past where it was acceptable, but that was nothing compared to the ache inside at the knowledge that, once again, he’d done exactly what was expected of him. She’d never even thought he’d come after her.

_To you, Ethan, old boy. Drink up. You’ve become everything they knew you would._

He finished the wine in a swallow.

\---

Phasma had left a note on his bedside table, telling him she’d be back that afternoon to hang out some more. ‘Hang out,’ Ben thought, sounded a lot better than ‘check in on.’ It made him feel less like a psycho, and more like a person. Like someone people could want to be around for purposes _other_ than making sure he didn’t kill himself. Obviously, at least part of the reason was still to make sure he didn’t kill himself - he knew that - but he could ignore it. He could pretend what happened yesterday had just been another one of his less... _lucid_ moments. A hallucination, or a dream or something.

Knowing he now had something to do today other than to paint, hurt himself, and sleep - Ben felt simultaneously both excited and exhausted by the mere thought. Nonetheless, he got himself into the shower, under careful supervision by Millicent who, as always, refused to leave his side, and actually went in the shower with him - sitting in the corner farthest from the showerhead, looking like a disgruntled orange pear - making Ben smile as he tried to get himself cleaned up without splashing too much water on her. Still, her ears flicked in annoyance as some drops still flew her way.

“You’re in a shower, Millie,” he chuckled as she shook it out of her fur. “Showers are wet - shouldn’t you know that by now?”

Millicent yawned, then started grooming her face and ears. Ben had never heard of a cat that would go into a shower out of their own free will, but apparently Millicent had decided it was worth it. The real hassle was usually trying to get her paws dry, but Ben didn’t want to risk her wandering off and ruining something by getting it wet, so he still spent longer than either of them wanted after each shower drying them with a small towel.

There was little use wearing any other sweatpants than the ones he’d been wearing for the last week or so - they’d only get paint all over them anyway - but he did manage to find a clean t-shirt and new underwear. Socks were too much of a hassle, and he didn’t bother with more than the most basic towel-drying of his hair - leaving it to drip all over his shoulders and back. It’d dry eventually, and he needed the energy to make tea and feed Millie. Today felt like it might be a sort of okay day, but maybe that was just because he was still so tired from yesterday’s emotional rollercoaster that his brain just hadn’t gotten started yet. Either way, he felt like he wanted tea, and quite possibly also some pudding, and he was going to go get it before he changed his mind.

Apart from him randomly falling asleep for an hour as he’d stretched out on the floor to rest his back a bit, most of the day was fairly productive, and he felt like he’d made up for both the time he lost yesterday to the stupid shit he’d pulled, and for the time that would go to hanging out with Phasma today.

When she arrived, he was just drying the brushes after having cleaned them up, and she took a moment to admire his progress before setting the bags containing whatever food she’d decided to get them onto the coffee table. To his relief, it was sushi, and he felt glad that it was just one box - just like the one Hux had bought back wh- _No_.  He was _not_ going to think about Hux right now, because he wanted that sushi, and if he allowed himself to emotionally connect it to the older man he’d never be able to eat it again - and given how rare it was that he found food he could stand eating, he couldn’t risk it. Phasma had even brought enough soda for at least five more people, and what looked like butter flavoured microwave popcorn - she really was serious about the whole ‘hanging out’ thing. After grabbing a pair of drinking glasses, he sat down next to her, and she gave him a little hug before handing over a pair of chopsticks. Ben was getting pretty good at using those now, and he was proud of that, despite always hearing Han’s voice in his mind ranting on about how ‘normal people’ eat with knife and fork and not oversized toothpicks. Since Ben wasn’t normal, there shouldn’t really be problem, right?

“How’re you feeling today, honey?” Phasma asked with a smile, while reaching for a california roll. “I mean, apart from the obvious. You having a good day?”

Ben nodded, focused on pouring the soda without spilling it all over himself or the floor.

“It’s pretty okay,” he said. “Better than yesterday.”

“Good enough for me, I’ll take it.” She looked over at the TV, pursing her lips. “What do you say to a movie after we’ve finished eating? I think Hux has a Netflix subscription he’s never figured out what to do with, and I’ve found one I have a feeling you’ll like. You might not know this, but I have _great_ taste in movies.”

"Yeah, okay,” Ben nodded. It had not occurred to Ben before that that Hux might actually have even more options available than the ridiculous amount of channels Ben could spend hours browsing through to find the one he watched yesterday. But it made sense when he thought about it. “Not a horror movie, I hope? I’m, uhm, not great with those. Sorry.”

“Nope, definitely not a horror movie. Quite the opposite. Given, it’s a bit.. okay, the premise is set around a funeral, but it’s my favourite comedy ever, and it’s not half as dark as it sounds, I promise.” Phasma looked thoughtful again. “I’ve got an idea. What do you say we watch my pick first, and then we follow it up with something you’d like to see as well? I’ve got nowhere to be and nothing but time.”

Phasma was easy to hang out with, now that he knew her better. Though it was obvious she was one tough woman, it was also obvious even to Ben that she genuinely cared for him, and he did feel safe around her - which was odd but welcome. It was like he imagined it would be to have an older sister, or a young aunt or something like that - the kind of care that could still be based on free will rather than being forced due to the involved parties being parents and child. Ben didn’t believe in the whole ‘unconditional parental love’ thing; he had no idea what that would even look like, but with Phasma it was easy. She _chose_ to spend time with him, and she _chose_ to do things to help him - no one forced her, and she had no obligations whatsoever to even _talk_ to him, and yet here she was. Ben didn’t deserve her care, but he was selfish enough to not try and push her away. It felt good to be cared for, and Ben was a bad enough person to want it despite not deserving it.

They got the TV set up, and Phasma navigated the menu with the ease of someone who obviously spent a good deal of her free time in front of it, while Ben kept an anxious eye on the popcorn. Butter-flavoured was the only kind of popcorn he liked, and he told her that as he went to prepare it - making Phasma give a beaming smile - but he was also very bad at making popcorn regardless of whether it was in a microwave or on a stove, so he took no chances and kept a very close watch until it was done. As they began watching the movie, they chatted about anything and everything - except the topic of Hux, and Ben felt guilty for feeling relieved at that - and it seemed Phasma had a knack for getting him to open up about stuff he usually didn’t talk much about. They talked about music, and movies, and fashion - she even got him to admit he’d always wanted to have both piercings and a few tattoos, but never dared to because of his parents - and a strong, mutual love of all things chocolate. Phasma promised to take him to all her favourite places, especially somewhere called _Serendipity,_ so he could have the best chocolate there was.

During the final half of Ben’s film of choice, _Despicable Me_ , the sore topic that was Hux finally made an appearance. Jokingly at first, as Phasma couldn’t keep herself from remarking that Gru and Hux had some rather interesting similarities when it came to their people skills, and Ben - struck by sudden bravery - asking which one of the kids she’d suggest he was, then. Phasma diplomatically informed him that he was all three, and laughed so hard she almost fell off the couch when Ben reminded her that if Hux was Gru, then she was the old dude on the mobility scooter - a comment that earned him a good ruffling of his hair and a playful elbow in the ribs.

But, of course, once Hux was on the table, things naturally became serious again. After a few minutes of silence, Phasma finally looked at him with all sorts of emotions swirling around in her eyes.

“Look, honey, I know you don’t want to talk about exactly what happened,” she said. “And I’m going to respect that. I trust that you’ll tell me when you feel up to it. But Ben - you don’t have to stay here. You know that, right? That you don’t owe him a damn thing, even if it feels like it?”

“But I _do_ ,” Ben sighed. “He… He saved my life, Phasma. If he hadn’t taken me home with him, I wouldn’t have had anywhere else to go. I- I wouldn’t be alive now if it wasn’t for him.” _There._ He’d said it. Shame burned hot in his chest and on his cheeks, and as Phasma pulled him close he realized there were tears forming as well. “And it’s not like… uhm, I- I still don’t… still don’t h-have anywhere to go! I don’t have any money or anywhere to stay - I don’t even have a _phone_ to-... to call someone with even if there was somewhere I _could_ go.” He swallowed hard. “And I know-... I know I don’t really have the right to be here anymore, but I- I promised him… I promised I’d paint that wall for him, and I gotta. It’s the only way I have of… you know, of paying him back.”

Phasma sighed, holding him closer.

“Hux, you incredible _asshole_ ,” she muttered under her breath. “Ben, sweetheart, listen to me - this is important. You _do_ have somewhere to go, alright?  If you don’t want to stay here, I’ll help you pack your things before you can say _‘Hux doesn’t deserve you._ You come stay with me - just say the word. I may not live in a penthouse so obscenely large we all know it’s got to be compensating for something, but I have a hell of a set-up. A spare bedroom that hasn’t seen company in far too long, and a living room with more than enough space for your painting things. Hell, you can even bring Millicent if you want; God know she can’t stand Hux anyway. It’s yours as long as you need it, no strings attached, and if you want me to help you find some way to start over, a new job - anything - you have my word I’ll do my very best to make sure it works out. And Ben? When I do my very best, it _always_ works out. I’ve got a pretty impressive track record.”

“There’s nothing you could do to make me throw you out, or to make me think you’re a burden. Which I know you’re already worried about, so I’m telling you right now: you don’t have to be. Hux may be the world’s biggest idiot, but I’m not - I know you can’t help all of the stuff going on in your head right now. And I’m going to keep repeating it until you believe me: you don’t owe him _anything_. Not one second of your time, okay? You want me to help you pack, we’ll have you out of here tonight. Don’t even worry about Hux - I know how to take care of him, and he’s not getting anywhere _near_ you until you’re okay with it. _If_ you’re okay with it.”

Ben couldn’t collect himself enough to answer right away; the sheer honesty and emotion in Phasma’s tone had sent him headfirst into one of those violent sobbing episodes again, and he simply couldn’t make his voice work. When he finally managed to get his breathing under control, he looked at her, then the wall.

“I- I n-need to… finish that wall first,” he stuttered. “It’d be wrong to leave it half-finished. I just need to know it’s finished - that I p-paid him back. C-can I- uhm, can I think about it for a few days?”

“Oh, honey, of course you can.” Phasma ran a soothing hand over his back. “This is a standing offer; there’s no expiration date. You think on it as long as you need to.”

Ben could only nod, and they sat like that for God knows how long, until Ben timidly asked if she would have time for another movie. He didn’t want to be alone right now - which was a huge admission coming from him - and Phasma assured him she had all night. When it was revealed that Ben had never seen Doctor Who, Phasma looked like she was about to have a heart attack, then sent him to make more popcorn so they could start watching it. It was well after midnight when she left, and though neither one of them said anything about it, they had both noticed that Hux still hadn’t come home. Ben wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or worried, but he was so tired he could barely walk, so all of that had to wait until tomorrow. He’d had a good evening - better than he could remember ever having, and he just wanted to ride the wave of it a little longer. Things would turn back to utter shit soon anyway; they always did.

\---

Hux pillowed his head on his arms, his vision going slanted as he laid it on the top of the bar. He’d never visited the establishment before, couldn’t have told someone the name if they’d asked, but it was doing the job just splendidly as far as he was concerned. The interior was all dark wood, shoddily adorned with bits of garland around the bar and overtop the booths, a shabby-looking wreath hung on the door, in deference to the season. It was dimly lit, just the way a bar should be, and if the poor lighting was concealing all manner of things Hux didn’t want to think about on the surface where he currently laid his head - well, Hux wasn’t going to complain. Sometimes it was better to live in blissful ignorance.  

He snorted, blinking lethargically. Sometimes? How about all the time? There was so much he wished he didn’t know about himself, so much he wished he had never put together so that the writing on the wall was so wretchedly clear that even he couldn’t deny it. So much he wished he could pack away, back into the neat little boxes he’d kept it locked in, as if he’d never seen it at all. Self-awareness had never been Hux’ strong suit, but it didn’t _need_ to be. He had a team of people he paid to be aware _for_ him, who knew Hux’ quirks, who read his moods and needs and wants so he didn’t have to. And before this, he’d never considered that perhaps this refusal to look inward was concealing something uncomfortable and unseemly.

(Maybe he’d known it, somewhere deep down, of course, but he’d never had reason to look deep down. Not when there were endless consults that required his attention and colors of carpeting to choose and Thannison’s newest picks to scroll through when they were sent to his phone and a fleet of sports cars he never had the time he needed to tinker with but that grew larger by the year all the same.)

Hux was a busy man - too busy for self-reflection, until suddenly he wasn’t. And, he thought, raising his head just far enough off the bar to take a sip of the Old Fashioned sat inches from his face, now he understood why. Ben had forced him to looked inward, and he didn’t like he what he saw. His skin itched with it, tight and ill-fitting, so that he wished to take it off and try someone else’s. What would it be like, he wondered, to shed the identity of Ethan Hux and try on another?  Would it fit better than this one did? Would it chaff less, digging into him at the seams no matter how he fastidiously he tailored his suits?  

Would he still be as alone as he was now, were he someone else? Would he still want that?

Shaken by the thought, Hux tossed back the dregs of his third Old Fashioned. It was half-water; _Johnny’s Bar,_ the glass read, and huh, now he could tell someone the place’s name, couldn’t he? But whatever the name, it wasn’t the type of establishment to serve its ice at an appropriate temperature so it wouldn’t melt half-way through one’s beverage. Hux grimaced at the taste, not that it had been particularly inspiring in the first place. He’d ordered the finest rye they had on hand, but even that had been worse than what he kept stocked in his own bar. It lacked the smoothness inherent in spirits of distinction, burned going down so that his eyes pricked at the corners with each swallow. But, Hux thought as he ordered another, perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing. He’d take it.

Had the bartender been doing his job, he probably would have cut Hux off before he’d ordered his first round, but the man - rotund, sweat beading on his forehead in the artificial heat, with a skinny tie he clearly had no idea how to knot - looked as disengaged as Hux felt. It was nearly Christmas, and Hux would have wagered the last place he wanted to be was here, serving drinks to patrons in states as lamentable as his. What did he care if Hux had been drunk off his ass by the time he walked through the door, already unsteady on his feet and smelling of the wine he’d raided his own office for?

Hux had only ventured outside of Imperial when he’d run out of wine to indulge in there, behind his desk. As soon as Phasma had gone, leaving him alone with his thoughts, Hux had turned to the wine. Had buzzed in to Mitaka to tell him to cancel the rest of the day’s engagements, he had something that would keep him occupied for the duration of the afternoon - and that something was drinking until he stopped hearing the echoes of Phasma’s words. The remainder of the bottle of wine he’d opened the day before had gone down easy, a fine Pinot - his favorite, the one he always kept on hand. Perhaps if he’d eaten something, it would have made him full, but he hadn’t, and he’d opened the second bottle in his chiller without thinking anything of it. He’d drank that more slowly, savoring the slight bitterness on his tongue and the way his head swam pleasantly. How far removed he felt from the man he had become, from being anyone at all.

He’d swirled the wine in his glass, had admired how the light played off the robust red color, kicking his feet up on his desk and leaning so far back into his chair that he’d almost toppled it over, and that had been, in his opinion, a productive enough way to spend the next five hours. Jessika and her campaign could go fuck itself, as could Phasma and her opinion of him, as could the way his heart lurched every time he allowed his mind to settle on Ben and the way Phasma had spoken of the boy.

When the second bottle was as empty as the first, he’d taken a moment to mourn for the fact that he only kept two bottles in the chiller at a time. Too drunk to work and too terrified to return to the penthouse - because now he knew that’s what he was, scared shitless and getting more scared by the second, his chest growing tighter and tighter with each day spent outside of Ben’s presence, until he was certain this was what had befallen his father and he was going to die of a heart attack - he’d stood frozen by his own uselessness. That is, until he’d taken matters into his own hands and wandered to the elevators, and then out onto the streets of New York, thanking his own reputation the whole way that no one dared to approach him.

This had been the first bar he’d seen, the door set into the street and down a flight of stairs, only a few blocks down from Imperial. Hux must have walked by a thousand times before without taking note of it, but then, it wasn’t the kind of place that typically drew his attention  

“Rough day?” the bartender asked, as he poured Hux’ drink, and Hux wasn’t yet pathetic enough that he really believed the man gave a shit what kind of day he’d had, but he was just pathetic enough to answer anyway.

“Rough day? Rough week. Rough…” Hux held his hand up in front of his face, ticking off days in his attempt to count how long it had been since he’d forced Ben out of his bed and, effectively, out of his life. In his current state, the math was too much for him, and he gave up, letting his hand fall back to the bar with a _smack._ “Rough one week, two weeks, _too damn long,_ that’s what.” The bartender handed over the drink, nodding in feigned sympathy, and Hux wasted no time taking another swallow, tears again springing to his eyes. Irritated, he swiped a sleeve over them and shuddered, just as the door behind him swung open, letting in a gust of frigid air. When he turned to see who had come in, he noted distantly that some time must have passed since he’d first sat here. Outside the door, it was well and truly dark, the evening broken by the siren of a passing police car.

Just when had he become the type of person to lose entire hours holed up in a place meant to skew the passage of time, Hux asked himself, but that didn’t stop him from lifting his glass again, the ice clinking inside and the condensation already wet on his fingers. The bartender hadn’t given him a coaster, only a cocktail napkin which had stuck to Hux’ glass; underneath, a ring had already formed that would never be buffed out, and if that wasn’t bad enough, the man who had just entered was demanding _music,_ when the only sound Hux was ready to hear was the rattle of the bar’s ancient heater kicking on in the background.

Perhaps Hux could have lived with the demand, even with the way his head was starting to pound, the reflection off gaudily colored baubles making his vision go strange and fractured, but then the bartender was turning the dial on a radio that appeared to be a remnant of the 1980s, the station crackling in and out as it came to life. Hux wouldn’t have recognized any other Mariah Carey song had he been required to in order to save his life, but _this one?_ This one of all songs? This one he knew by heart.

He slammed his fist down on top of the bar, rattling his drink hard enough that it sloshed over the rim.

“Would you turn this infernal song _off?”_ The ire in his voice shouldn’t have surprised him; this wasn’t the first time his temper had gotten the better of him while in his cups. “Is there not another Christmas song worth playing in this entire God-forsaken city? Have you not heard of _White Christmas,_ perhaps? _Jingle Bells? Dashing Through the Goddamned Snow?”_ Both the bartender and the patron who had requested the music looked at him as if he’d lost his mind - and, Hux thought, maybe he had. He could think of nothing more satisfying that the prospect of leaping the bar and putting his fist straight through the damnable radio - anything to silence Mariah Carey’s mocking voice - but he still had enough of his mind about him that he didn’t wish to become familiar with the inside of the police car that had just passed by before the night was out. “You know what, never mind. Just…” He dug into the pocket of his slacks for his wallet and deposited a crumpled one hundred dollar bill on the counter. “Just keep the change.”

The air outside the bar was bracing, the kind that took Hux’ breath away as he stepped out into the night. He’d forgotten his peacoat at the office, he realized, wrapping his arms around himself as he walked - strange that he hadn’t noticed on the walk that took him here, but the cold didn’t have as much of an effect as it would have had he not had so much to drink. (And if that should have worried him… well, it also would have been easier to care had he not had so much to drink.)  When he looked at his phone, he hadn’t missed a single message, not even from Phasma, who he’d been certain would continue her chastisement from earlier. Strangely, he almost wished she had; it would have felt less lonely than the blank screen that stared back at him.

_All I want for Christmas is you._

Hux didn’t believe in Christmas gifts, other than the trinkets he and Phasma exchanged. What could anyone give him, after all, that he couldn’t give himself? He already owned more than what most people saw in a lifetime, and anything that wasn’t yet his, he could have delivered within the week. And yet, clenched around his phone, his hands felt empty. The years of his life - all 33 of them - had been dedicated to ensuring he’d never want for anything. Would never _ask_ for anything, and who could say he hadn’t succeeded? Hux no longer gave anyone the chance to deny him, because he had no need for requests. Only demands. Why, then, was he standing outside what might have been the shadiest bar he’d ever frequented, nearly having destroyed a radio over a Christmas song that had seen its peak in the 1990s?

Hux hadn’t cried in fifteen years - longer, maybe - despite whatever Phasma might have said about his reaction to _Love, Actually._ But whether it was the lingering burn of the rye, or the bite of the December wind, he couldn’t stop his eyes from watering as he wandered the streets of Manhattan. He couldn’t go back to the penthouse; likely Ben was asleep by now, but what would Hux do there, other than watch him sleep like he had the week before? Indulge in more fantasies about what it would be like if things were different? If _Hux_ were different? He wasn’t, and all the hopeless pining in the world wouldn’t change that.

\---

Over on Broadway - and Hux marveled that he had made it that far, it really didn’t seem that he’d been walking for so long - New York was still alive. Though the latest of the shows had let out earlier in the evening, playgoers hoping to catch a glimpse of the actors leaving for their cars collected around the side doors, and Hux stepped around them. He’d never liked this part of New York; it’s didn’t feel like _his._ Like the New York his father had introduced him to as a boy. Despite the weather and the hour, this part of the city never slept, that was true, but there was nothing that spoke to him here. He could leave Time Square to the tourists, he thought; the New York he occupied was the one made of brick and mortar, of the dreams that had been brought up here and that he had seen realized, for all the good that had done him.

It was outside of the Winter Garden Theatre that Hux saw him through the window of a nearby diner - a man who might have been in his mid-fifties, tall, like he was, with hair that could once have been Hux’ color but was now fading to a sandy-sprinkled grey. He wore a suit Thannison would have been proud of, tailored perfectly down to the length of the sleeves on his jacket, a cream cashmere scarf around his neck, his posture impeccable, and he was... sitting alone. The inside of the diner was awash in warmth, so that Hux could nearly smell the food from within, cheery yellow light playing off the tabletops, and transfixed, Hux stood outside for a moment, watching as the man sat a briefcase in front of him and opened it to remove a laptop in the same model as Hux’ own.

A few tables over, there was a family - a man and woman with two girls, probably not quite teenagers, their hair done up for the play, pulled back in matching red satin bows. Not much longer and they’d resist the treatment, but for now, they had accepted it. They sat up on their knees, reaching across the table for a slice of chocolate cake that the man - their father, Hux guessed - was dividing for them. When he was finished, the man looked up to catch Hux watching him; he must have looked a wreck, but the man just smiled at him and gave him a little wave all the same.

That made the decision for him, and he headed inside. He may not have had his coat, but he had his wallet, and that was enough to buy him a coffee, which Hux ordered in hopes of restoring some degree of sobriety.

The coffee was drinkable, after Hux added enough milk (no soy alternative on hand) to make it a murky white, and luke-warm, which was still a good deal warmer than it had been outside. Hux sipped at it gratefully until, after a while, the family left, still chattering happily about the play they’d seen - something called _School of Rock,_ which didn’t sound like any Broadway show Hux had ever heard of. But the man in the suit remained, still mulling over something in front of his laptop. He had a look of supreme distaste on his face, and when he looked at him, Hux could see no one but his father. Of course, his father had never had a laptop to work on when Hux was a boy, but he’d seen that exact look on his father’s face almost every day until he’d went away to Princeton. One that meant he was not to be bothered - and anything Hux did was considered a bother.

Perhaps his father had loved him; Hux couldn’t be sure. If he had, he’d never said it, though he’d written the check for Hux’ private school education every year, had attended the annual fundraising galas and written another, bigger check there too. Had even taken Hux with him to his office on occasion, and let him look out the windows of that big, big building, pointing out this corporation and that one and drilling Hux on the CEOs of each. Those were, Hux thought, the fondest memories he had of his father, and even those were tinged with a cold indifference. The only passion Hux could remember his father ever exhibiting was when he spoke of his work, of some new acquisition and the dollars and cents that came with it, his happiness - if it could be called that - measured always with a decimal point.

The coffee, once luke-warm, had long gone cold, even the people milling about the theatre outside having dispersed, when the man finally packed up his laptop and stood from the booth. His posture was still imitable, but his back creaked, and Hux saw the flicker as something like weariness crossed his face. He might have had a family, someone waiting for him at home - maybe someone like Ben, artistic and soulful - but Hux doubted it. He knew this man, had grown up with him, had watched as, each year, he’d grown more reclusive and withdrawn. Hux had run from him just as soon as the opportunity presented itself, leaving him more alone than ever, as if that had meant a damn thing to his father at all. Sometimes, Hux wondered if he’d even noticed, if it was with a sigh of relief that he counted yet another year gone by without Hux’ call.

_“It looks like you got what you wanted,”_ Phasma had told him, and suddenly, there in the diner, with the smell of chocolate cake and old coffee and the lights of Broadway across the street, he was faced with the realization that the man he was looking at was not his father - or maybe he was, but more than that, he was _himself._ His penthouse may not have been empty yet, but it would be soon enough, the warmth he’d shared with Ben just another casualty of the need for control his father had taught him before he’d ever used the word ‘proprietary investment’ in front of him. Hux had always been a good student.

The thought did what coffee could not - sobered him, the glow of fluorescent lighting harsh and unforgiving in the early morning. Thirty-three years spent trying to throw off the yoke of his father, and what had he become but a shadow of the man? Give him another 33 years, and there was little doubt he’d have succeeded in pushing Phasma away too - may well have done so already, with his act this morning. He could see it now: just him and the brandy and a penthouse with a dozen rooms he would never fill, except with the obstinate stubbornness that he would never allow himself to admit he’d wanted anything else.

And for what? Why? Why, when he’d had Ben in his home? Who, for a month, had wanted Hux to come home _to_ him, had looked forward to it, had answered Hux’ calls and knew how he took his tea, and who had wanted to talk to Hux about something that wasn’t goddamn business for once? Who had melted in Hux’ arms when Hux had kissed him. Had kissed him back, eagerly, and who had smiled into it so Hux could feel it against his lips and who had held on and who Hux had _shoved away_ like he’d shoved away anything that had ever mattered. Would the conviction that he had proven himself right sleep next to him like Ben had, he wondered. Would the control he’d refused to give up smile at him from across the sofa, all teeth and an oversized nose that scrunched up at shitty commercials?

When his father returned home at the end of the day, did thoughts of the impervious image he’d cultivated so carefully make welcome company?

Hux couldn’t have said for his father, who had made his own choices long enough ago that there was no taking them back, but as far as Hux knew, in his penthouse, there was still a beautiful boy he’d left behind, one who just might listen if he poured his heart out. A chance was more than he deserved, but Ben had always had always been too good by half.  It was worth a shot. Hell, he thought, leaving another crumpled one hundred dollar bill under his coffee cup as the first hint of sunrise touched the skyline, he might not have been one for taking chances before, but maybe it was time to start.

\---

Ben had been rather rudely awoken at a way too early fucking hour that morning by Millicent falling off the bed and desperately grabbing on to his leg in an attempt to keep herself on it. After surveying the damage and cleaning up the small cuts from her nails, Ben was too wide awake to bother with going back under the covers, and figured he might as well get an early start on the painting. The sooner he got it done, the sooner he could let Hux go back to his life and stop being in his way. Given, he was still a bit groggy, but that wasn’t really anything out of the ordinary - and after getting dressed and feeding Millie, he went to prepare everything he needed. With his hands shaking like nothing else, just getting the buckets of paint open was half an hour’s job - because he had to stop and breathe for a minute every now and then, and his hands got all sweaty, and the lids slippery. No, it was always good to have some extra time for those things.

But, of course, since the universe was always out to get him, he dropped the bucket of green paint, and as it went down, it knocked over the bucket of purple he’d just opened, causing the stick he’d used to stir the paint to go flying and land in the red paint with a giant splash - getting paint all over himself and most of the things on the dropcloth. As if that wasn’t enough, the sudden noise startled Millie, who came streaking _right_ _across_ the dropcloth, getting paint all over herself too as she did. And Ben still had more buckets left to open after that. _Fucking great._ But he fixed the buckets, relieved that not as much had spilled as he’d thought, then decided to get the rest of them open before trying to catch Millie. For the moment, the fat cat had taken refuge on Hux’ dining room table, glaring death at the painting supplies from her spot on the plastic cover Ben had put there to protect it against any paint related accidents. He was glad for that now. She didn’t look like she had any intentions of trying to lick the paint off, and she’d need a moment before he went to catch her, or there’d be paw prints and paint smears all over Hux’ penthouse, he knew that. It was bad enough when she got wet. Going after her too soon when she was covered in paint? Yeah, that was asking for trouble. He didn’t even bother trying to wipe the paint off his face, or get it out of his hair - there’d be more of it on him before he was finished for the day anyway.

Then Beru turned on Paganini’s _Konzert Für Violine und Orchester Nr. 10_ in D major, and Ben froze - nearly dropping another bucket as he made out the sound of the front door closing. _Shit_! It was like, 10 am or something - why was Hux coming home now? Had something happened at Imperial? Was he sick? Was he angry? He never came home before the end of the workday! Not even during lunch, so what the hell was going on?

After discreetly pinching himself to make sure he wasn’t dreaming or anything, Ben had to face the fact that yes, it was 10 in the morning, and Hux was entering the penthouse - leaving Ben trapped in the living room with nowhere to go. To get back to the guest room, he’d have to go through the hallway, and that meant going past the entrance hall. Was this the day, then? Was it today Hux had decided that he didn’t even want Ben around to finish the wall? Was it today that Ben would have to try and somehow get to a phone so Phasma could come rescue him? Was it today Ben would finally get confirmation of what he’d known all along; that he was nothing but a nuisance, a burden, a mistake? The nervousness settled like a lead weight in his belly, nausea beginning to rear its ugly but oh so familiar head, as he forced himself to focus on what he was doing. Maybe Hux would just go to his bedroom? Or that office he had somewhere in here? Maybe, if Ben played it cool, he’d get a chance to get the hell out of the man’s way without any incidents. Beru wasn’t helpful, though, as the music made it hard to hear Hux’ steps, thus preventing Ben from working out where he might be headed.

But he was good at picking up on people’s presence. He’d learned it the hard way, and it didn’t take long until he knew even without looking that Hux was standing somewhere behind him. It was more than a little unnerving that the man didn’t say anything, but Ben knew better than to speak until spoken to. That wasn’t a risk he was willing to take, and so he kept working on getting everything ready, so he could at least show that he wasn’t slacking off. At least he could show him that he took the job seriously, and wasn’t just trying to splatter some paint on the wall and call it done; after what Hux had done for him, it was the least Ben could do. It would never make up for his epic fuck-up, but at least it’d be some little gesture of his gratitude. But it was a strange kind of stand off, if he was to be honest with himself. Was Hux waiting for him to speak first after all? Or was he trying to hold back on some emotions? The air didn’t have that spiky, angry feel to it, but it didn’t feel entirely positive either, and Ben had no fucking clue what to do with it. He swallowed down a wave of nausea, preparing himself for whatever might happen when he opened his mouth, but he never got that far before the silence was finally broken by one word.

“Ben.”

There were a million different emotions in that voice, in that single word, but all Ben could think of in that moment was how desperately he’d _missed_ hearing how his name sounded rolling off of Hux’ lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The movie Phasma shows to Ben is "Death at a Funeral," not "This is Where I Leave You." No, we're not that meta. 
> 
> So it looks like at least our boys are going to talk! If YOU have something to say about it, as always, you can reach the two of us on tumblr - Loke at ficlet-machine and Cat at thegoodlannister!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: descriptions of and discussion of self-harm.

Knowing that this might be the day he had to pack up and leave, that he might be asked to go right away, that this might be the last time he ever got to see Hux and Millie - knowing it could all just _end_ right here and now - Ben was overcome with a desperate need to at least _try_ to say something. He had to try and salvage what he could of this mess, had to try to make it better - at least enough so that he could finish the wall (and have a few more days in this little bubble far away from the sad reality of his life). So before Hux could say anything else, Ben took a deep breath and went for it.

“Listen, Hux,” he said, unable to keep the tiredness out of his voice. “I fucked up, alright? I know that. It was stupid of me, and I know I shouldn’t have. I’m just… I’m a fuck-up, okay? It’s what I _do_. Alright? I do things, and I don’t think, and I fuck everything up for everyone around me, and I’m sorry.” He couldn’t bear even glancing over his shoulder; didn’t want to see Hux’ reaction. Didn’t want to see the pity, the judgement - _didn’t want to see him agree_. “I overstepped the boundaries, and I know I’ve way overstayed my welcome. I promise you won’t have to put up with me much longer, okay? I just need a few more days to finish this, and then I’ll be gone - I promise. You won’t have to ever see or hear from me again, okay? Just gimme, like three more days, and then I’ll leave. I’ll fix the room back up and everything, and it’ll be like I wasn’t even here, I promise! Please? I- I know I don’t have any right to ask, but… Just let me finish this?”

He finally turned slightly, looking at Hux over his shoulder as he straightened up, brush in hand, and prepared to start working on details of one of the building. Hux looked frozen to the spot, disheveled and ragged in a way Ben never thought possible, and the look on his face was one Ben had absolutely no idea how to interpret.

_“Please_?” he repeated. “Just a few more days?”

When Ben turned his head to look at him, all the words Hux had been planning to say lodged in his throat, caught somewhere behind the cage of his teeth. He’d spent the walk back to the penthouse laying out exactly what he would say to Ben to convince the boy to give him another chance, running over the ways he’d beg for his forgiveness. But this was the first time since the kiss that he’d seen Ben for more than a few moments outside of the night he’d spent watching him sleep, and Ben was… breathtaking. His hair was a perfect wreck, probably slept on wet, paint smeared across the bridge of his nose and then over his cheek, from when he’d tried to wipe it off and only made it worse, drying on the backs of his hands and up to his elbows, his nails caked with it. The oversized tee-shirt he wore slipped off one shoulder, exposing the pock-marks Hux knew covered every part of him he had seen, Ben himself like a painting, undeniably here and and real and lovely.

...and looking as if he hadn’t eaten in a week. Longer even, the bones of his shoulder jutting out in a way they hadn’t since that first night Hux had brought him here, all angles that had been carved ruthlessly away, weight lost that he had never had to spare in the first place.

_I’m sorry,_ Hux wanted to say. _I’m sorry I let you down this way. Pushed you away like I did. I’m sorry that I’m more my father than I ever believed possible. I’m sorry I couldn’t be what you needed me to be. But I can be. By God, I can._ The words didn’t seem like enough - he could spend the rest of his life making this up to Ben, and it would never be enough - but they were, thought, a damn good place to start. The only one he had. His eyes burned and ached, the product of a night spent with no sleep and too much liquor, and he dug into one of them with a knuckle, then took a tentative step toward Ben, dropping his hands and spreading them wide, imploring. He cleared his throat, let his eyes meet Ben’s and hold his gaze even when the exhaustion and resignation he saw there threatened to make his own spill over. When finally he spoke, his voice was rough with disuse and gravely from the cold morning air.  

“If all you can give me is a few more days...” he said, and he could have dropped to the floor with how desperate he felt. How had it taken him so long to realize that having Ben in his life was all he’d ever wanted? His presence the piece that had always been missing, even when he’d had everything else? That it was Ben who held the key to all the things locked away inside of him, and that now they had been let out, for better or for worse? “If all you can give me is a few more days, then I’ll take them. God knows it’s more than I deserve. I’ll take them, and I’ll make of them enough to sustain me now, and for all the years of my life after. I-I’ll make that work if I have to.” Even that would be more than he ever thought he’d have, during all the lonely years of his childhood, the equally lonely years since, surrounded by a thousand things he’d never needed. “But on the off chance that I haven’t ruined things completely and the possibility still exists that I might keep myself from losing you... Ben, I have a prospect for you: how about the rest of your life?”

Behind Ben, the wall of his living room bled with color where before there had been only white - it had been, Hux thought, waiting for Ben’s hands to decorate it, to bring it to life, for all this time, and he’d never known anything was missing at all. He’d liked the white, had chosen the apartment at least in part with its clean minimalism in mind, but only now, with Imperial’s logo blinking back at him, did it feel like _his._ He ached to be close to Ben, whose tongue had poked out to lick at his lips, and where once he would have held himself back - too concerned with what it would have meant to chase after someone, too afraid to put himself in that vulnerable place where he could ask and be denied - Hux moved a step closer, irrevocably into Ben’s orbit.

_"Please.”_ Hux didn’t remember the last time he had used a pleasantry while not ordering at a restaurant. The word usually preceded a request for more wine, or an additional appetizer. He didn’t grovel, didn’t beg. And yet, when he let his fingers curl around Ben’s shoulder - careful, the bones were so close to the surface - his voice broke, and he might as well have hit his knees.

“Why?” Ben couldn’t stop himself from asking the question. If he’d been confused before, it was perfect clarity compared to this. The hell did he mean, _‘the rest of your life?'_  It made exactly zero sense, and it wasn’t as if he sounded very happy at the thought either. He’d better not be asking out of guilt. Ben didn’t need more of that, because surely, even Ben had to be _worth_ more than that? Even Ben had to be allowed to want to be where he was welcome and wanted, not where he’d be taken in because someone needed to ease their conscience? “I don’t understand… Why would you even _want_ that? I’ve got nothing to offer you at all, sans my fucked up head and my fuckton of issues. _Why_ would you want me to stay after what I did? Huh? If you’re doing this just because you’re feeling guilty, then please don’t. I’m the one who fucked up. You don’t have to feel like you owe me shit. Okay? I just… please, just tell me _why_ you could possibly want me to stick around. Because I don’t get it.”

“Ben, I-” Hux opened his mouth to protest, then realized there was little he could say in his defense. What had he expected Ben to think, behaving the way he had? If he’d wanted Ben around, he certainly hadn’t acted like it, hadn’t done anything to indicate that the only thing that hurt more than being separated from him was being near him, but unable to touch. “Ben, I have been the most _incredible idiot._ ” He spun Ben around to face him, and miraculously, Ben allowed it, their faces only inches apart, so that all Hux could see was the liquid quality to his eyes, the way he tightened his jaw to keep from worrying his lip. Hux’ mouth was dry with longing -  if he kissed him now, without saying the words that needed saying, they’d be right back to where they started - and he swallowed hard before trying again. “Phasma came to see me, you know? She had a lot to say - a-about you. About me. About what I did to you.  And I just… I should never have kissed you, Ben - I know that,” he said, still angry with himself for what he’d done.  “But I don’t think I would take it back, even now. It’s just all the shit that came after it, I never meant to-”

Ben was trembling faintly under his touch - fight or flight, Hux knew. This was his chance; if he didn’t express himself here, if he couldn’t make Ben understand the things he felt for him, this would be it, and emboldened, he put his other hand, the one not on Ben’s shoulder, against the boy’s cheek. Ben’s eyes fluttered closed at the movement, dark lashes stark on the delicate skin under his eyes, but only for a moment; he forced them open again just as quickly, wary even as Hux’ thumb stroked a slow arc over his cheekbone. Ben had come to him bruised and split open, and Hux had seen that put to rights, only to break him open again, worse this time, because Ben, he knew, had trusted him. A foolish decision then - and Hux vowed to himself that should Ben ever do so again, he’d never live to make him regret it.

“Phasma was right, I’m not good at this,” he said, finally, all trace of finesse gone. His charm laid to waste by the depth of his feeling, the words now clawing their way up from his throat. “At - at talking like this. At apologizing. At… at needing things. And I tried to tell myself it was for your own good, did you know that? Kissing you was the best damn thing I’ve ever done - of all the red-eye flights and all the contracts signed and sealed and all the checks I’ve written - and I just going over it in my mind. Keep thinking… that was it. The only thing I’ve done that was ever worth anything. And I just should have told you that, and then you could have made your own decision. Chosen if you wanted me or not - and I don’t blame you if you don’t, not even a little bit. Hell, I don’t even want me right now, but I’m stuck with me. You have options. You- you have-”  He let the fingers that had been hanging onto Ben’s shoulder slide down to his waist now that Ben no longer seemed as if he was going to bolt, each of the knobs of Ben’s spine like the markers of a map written on his body, guiding Hux home, until his hand fit securely into the dip at the small of his back.

“I don’t like that you can choose not to want me.” The admission cost him, and Hux felt his throat close up around it. “I don’t like how that makes me feel, the things it makes me do. Because Ben? I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something quite so much; I feel like I’m burning alive with it, and I should have said, _I know I should have said,_ but I couldn’t. Didn’t. I could have, I’m sure, if I’d really wanted to. If I’d really tried. But instead I just- What I did to you, it was… it was the worst thing I’ve ever done, I think, and I’ve done a lot of them.  I’m just such a goddamn _coward,_ and I swear to god, Ben, if you give me half a chance to make it up to you, I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure it was the smartest decision you ever made. This, all of this?” And here he gestured not to the apartment, but to himself, haggard and ragged as he was - with his beard overgrown and his hair dried funny from melting snow and the smell of last night’s liquor clinging to clothes he hadn’t changed in two days. He knew was a sight, knew how much he didn’t have to offer Ben; even with the bankbook and the cars and the best view of the city money could buy, he’d always known deep down he was never quite enough, but as he offered Ben a crooked half smile, he prayed this time, he might be.  

“All of this is yours, for what little it’s worth. A-and I can’t promise never to hurt you, and I can’t promise I’ll even be much better at all of this than I am right now, but god, I’ll try with everything I have.  And I know I’m asking you to go out on a limb here, Ben - and you don’t have to decide right now.” He licked his lips, chapped from the cold last night. “And if you want to go somewhere else - if you want _someone_ else, then I understand. But before you do that, I just need you to know… I  need you to know that I’m _sorry._ Sorry that I hurt you, sorry that I ever made you feel like anything less than what you are. You’re- you’re…”  Hux trailed off, shaking his head and looking at the floor, the half-smile remaining. He couldn’t shake it, not when his hands were finally where they belonged, on Ben once again - not even as hot tears gathered in the corners of his eyes.

“You’re strange and magnificent and absolutely the most incredible human being I have ever met.” His voice was watery and thick, and he choked on it, raising his head to look at Ben as a tear slipped down the bridge of his nose. He should have been ashamed that he was crying, he thought, but looking at Ben, standing there in his penthouse in front of the wall he’d brought to life, knowing this might be the last time they’d ever be this close, he couldn’t bring himself to give a damn. It wasn’t just the wall Ben had changed, nor the penthouse - it was _everything._

“I think meeting you may have been the single most important moment in my life,” he said, the words raw. “And if I’ve ruined it all by being an ass, then that’s probably what I deserve. But I’m not willing to accept that if there’s anything I can do to change it. I might not deserve you, not yet or maybe not ever, but _dammit,_ Ben - I want you, if you’ll have me.” A sob caught in Hux’ throat, and he hitched Ben in closer, trying to memorize the feel of Ben’s cool skin under his thumb, the exact constellation of the moles that dotted his face, in case he never saw them again. “I love you. I wasn’t even sure what that meant until last night, after Phasma, and the diner, and the coffee - but there it is. I love you. And if what you want is to just finish this wall and leave, I’ll live the rest of my life and leave you out of it, no questions asked _,_ but I want you to know I won’t enjoy a minute of it. Because you? You’re it for me, darling. The end of the line. And- and I love you.”

It was the first time he’d said it aloud, the first time he’d even _thought_ it, but as he rested his forehead against Ben’s, daring to hope that he wouldn’t pull away, Hux already knew that once could never be enough.

“Y-you… what?” Ben’s voice sounded terribly small, even to his own ears. Did Hux just say… How could he even…? Did he really just… say _that_ ? No, it couldn’t be. This was _Hux_ \- he couldn’t possibly- No one could possibly feel… _that_ for Ben. Yet, he couldn’t stop himself from hoping he’d actually heard what he thought he heard and that it - _for just this once in his life_ \- was for real. “Y-you really… _mean_ that?”

“I do, darling. Every word, and more than that, and I know I’ve no right to ask, but if you’d only let me prove it to you...”

“I just...” Ben swallowed as he felt the tears welling up in his eyes. His heart felt so tight in his chest, and at the same time it felt like it might just burst right out of his body from all of the things he was feeling. He felt light, giddy, and his skin burned under the gentle pressure of Hux’ hands. That sense of home, of belonging, of _safe_ wrapped itself around him again, and Ben couldn’t stop the tears as they ran down his face. The relief at being near Hux again, at being wanted, the astonishment at being told he was wanted, _loved…_ it was too much and not enough, and he felt dizzy from it. He couldn’t make himself look Hux in the eyes. If only he knew how... how this was the first time anyone had _ever_ said that to him, how no one had ever even said it and _lied_ before, how no one had ever wanted him like that. It was _so_ hard to hear it. So terrifying, and still he craved it. He needed to hear it - lie or truth, he just _needed_ to hear it. “It’s just-” he began, then hesitated. “I- I don’t know how to-... No one’s ever told me that before.”

Hux removed his hand from Ben’s face to wrap it around his neck, drawing him in closer, so Hux could bury his nose in his hair. This close, he smelled like the paint smeared across his cheek, like the soap from Hux’s shower, like cardboard and paper and maybe a little like Millicent, and for the first time, Hux allowed himself to experience it without reservation, his fingers caught in the fine hairs at the back of Ben’s neck.

“Well, I’ve never said it before,” he whispered, the scruff of his beard rubbing up against Ben’s cheek as he spoke. Even a few days without proper grooming left it unruly, and he hoped the catch of it wasn’t uncomfortable on Ben’s skin. He hadn’t seemed to mind it last time they’d kissed, had he? Hux couldn’t remember. “I’m sorry, love - I didn’t have much of a chance to shave this morning.” He let out a watery-sounding laugh, his throat catching on the absurdity of the words. Just a few hours ago, he’d been wandering around Manhattan with no place to go, no idea of what he should do with himself, and now, here he was, Ben as close to him as he’d ever been, his hair tickling Hux’s nose. How stupid he had been to wait, when he could have had this from the start. If the past weeks had been hell, he had no one to blame but himself.

He nuzzled into Ben’s hair again, sighing, relief making his spine sag, though he let Ben rest most of his weight against him. Ben was still trembling, and he suspected it wouldn’t be long before he was taking all of it - which he would, and gladly. How Ben had gone this long with no one telling him what a treasure he was, with no one to count the ways his smile made everything make sense, and then not, with no one to look at each one of his features and point out the innumerable things that made him so heart-stoppingly beautiful that the tides of Hux’ moon had changed for him, Hux couldn’t understand. But with each twist of his fingers in that dark hair, there was a hitch to Ben’s breathing. He might not have been able change what had been done - nor anything that should have been but never was - but he could begin now to make up for the months he’d wasted, as well as for all of the 25 years that came before.

“You mean to tell me that no one’s ever looked into your eyes and decided then and there that they wanted to stay? That it’s never been like one of those storybooks, where someone sees you from across the room and, immediately, defying all reason, they are drawn to you? Like a string across fate, that’s how it goes, right? How it’s never went? Are you telling me that no one has ever kissed from your mouth down the line of your jaw and only stopped there because he was a gentleman and you deserve nothing less than a gentleman?” He breathed the words into Ben’s hair, the fingers of the hand at Ben’s waist rubbing over the knob at the base of his spine, slow and practiced movements, meant to keep. “Because I must tell you, Ben: the first two of those things I’ve already done, on the floor of my administrative department early this fall, and the last I intend to do today, here and now, if you’ll let me.”

Ben shivered harder under the weight of the words, at the intent behind them, nodding his head frantically as goosebumps rose on the back of his neck, and Hux shushed him before continuing. “If truly this has never happened to you before - if truly no one has ever told you all the things you should have heard - then I pity all those who have had the chance and missed it. But it’s only to my benefit, and I’m selfish enough to consider it a personal privilege, because that means I get to be the one to tell you, and for the first time - Ben, I love you, am _in love_ with you. I don’t think there’s been a moment since I saw you that I haven’t been. Truly, madly, deeply - the whole lot of it. I love you, and now that I’ve said it once, I don’t intend to _stop_ saying it. I love you.”

It was true - everything in Hux’ life, everything he had known to be true, had been turned upside down the day he’d found Ben amongst the wreckage of his administrative department, and it was with another watery laugh, pulling Ben still tighter against him, that he realized: that day, he’d told Edwards he wouldn’t fall in love unless the right man wandered through the doors of Imperial Marketing and was dropped directly into his path. He just hadn’t considered that it would happen quite so quickly.

“I...” Ben began, but any attempts he might have wanted to make at telling Hux exactly how he felt, what he felt, how deeply he felt it, paled next to one overpowering need. “I need… Show me. Please.”

“Anything you need, darling,” Hux whispered gently against his hair. “For now and for as long as you’ll have me, I am… I am at your disposal. Tell me what you need me to do, and I’ll do it. Anything, without question - if it’s in my power, it’s yours.”

“Say it again. T-tell me that you- that you love me. _Please_.”

The desperation hung heavy and tight around his words, making his voice cracked and shrill, even through his whisper - he didn’t dare speak louder, couldn’t risk anything breaking the spell of this moment. _But oh, how he needed this_. Needed those words hammered into his spine and burnt into his heart, because Ben didn’t know how to believe in them - but he thought that maybe, if he heard them enough times, he’d learn to hear the truth of them, to stop looking for the lie. He felt more than heard Hux’ shaky breath, felt how he tightened his hold on Ben, how his beard got caught in Ben’s unruly locks as he finally spoke.

“I love you.”

Hux’ voice trembled with emotion, and Ben could scarcely believe _he_ could be the one to reduce this beautiful, regal man to this skin-clad storm of emotion. But he still needed more.

“Again?”

A plea this time, as he finally dared search out Hux’ gaze, putting all he had into conveying everything he felt and needed and wanted and didn’t know how to ask for into that look.

“I love you.”

“ _Again_.”

Not so much plea now, as a demand. Something was finally clicking into place in his heart and he needed this with a ferocity he’d never experienced or thought possible. Hux’ mouth was so close to his now - he could feel their breath mingle, his lips tingling with the proximity, the wish to close that distance once and for all. Hux leaned ever so slightly closer, lips ghosting over his, green eyes grounding him, keeping him steady, here, in the moment, _safe_.

“I love you.”

“Again.”

Barely even audible, but Hux heard it, and pulled Ben as close as he could possibly get, his hands anchoring, possessive and protective, gentle and firm all at once, and there it was again; salvation. _Home_.

“I love you,” Hux whispered, and then Ben’s mind blanked out as Hux finally closed the last, tiny, but so important distance.

This wasn’t their first kiss, Hux reflected, as he crushed Ben to him - one hand tangled in his dark hair, the other splayed across the small of his back - but it was the one that _counted._ The last time, there had been panic, fear - the familiar instinct to flee. An instinct that was still there, niggling at the back of his brain, reminding him that if kissing Ben had been dangerous before, now it was downright insanity. There was no guarantee that he’d get to keep Ben - even if Ben wanted him now, there was telling whether he would want him still in five years, in ten, and then there was the possibility of losing him in some other way, the way his father had lost his mother, and maybe the man had been different before that, Hux couldn’t remember. Already Ben was the best part of him. But all of that was easily quieted as he ran his teeth gently over Ben’s bottom lip, eliciting a little gasp of pleasure and surprise, and Hux smiled into the kiss, laughter bubbling up in his chest. Ben’s mouth was so full, so wide and generous - like it had just been waiting for Hux to kiss it all along - that Hux couldn’t help himself from untangling his hand from Ben’s hair and stroking his thumb over the lip he had just bitten so lightly, savoring the feel of the temporary indentations of his teeth.

For all of the work he’d dedicated to his career, his firm, his position - for as hard as he’d fought for everything he had, all of it earned and, because it had been earned, deserved - Hux had often thought he’d been born under a lucky star. Things had a way of working out for him, from his acceptance to his first choice schools to his acquisition of Phasma as his COO, but never had he felt so lucky as when he felt Ben’s mouth turn up into a smile against his own. Overcome, Hux nuzzled their noses together, the bump in the bridge of Ben’s, where he had once thought it must have been broken - and he wanted to hear that story, wanted to learn everything about him, his past and his present and the things he’d wanted and wished for in his future, with a veracity he’d never before experienced - a welcome blip in the terrain of Ben’s face.

He loved that bump, and that nose, and the way it scrunched up when Ben laughed, like he was sure it was doing now, though he was too close to see it. _He loved Ben,_ he thought, the words still new enough that they sent a thrill of exhilaration and fear through him that all but stopped his heart. In an instant, he was back at the top of the roller coaster he’d ridden once while in college, brought there by a friend who had been more than a friend - though his father had never known who he was, or that Hux had spent that spring break anywhere other than at the campus library, doing research for his thesis. Again, he sat helpless at the highest point of the track, looking down at the drop to come, and all he could do was close his eyes and hang on, hoping that, when it came, it was the good kind of terrifying.

Thank god, then, that Ben was here too, he thought, that he didn’t have to face the drop alone; they would face it together, and he deepened the kiss, licking into Ben’s smile, letting his tongue trace the ridges of his teeth, Ben’s knees going weak at the treatment. He faltered and sagged into Hux’s arms, his knees bumping up against Hux’ until Hux chuckled against Ben’s lips and adjusted his hold so it was more secure, so that whatever drop might come, Hux could be the one to support him through it.

“This isn’t the first time my kiss has made a person’s knees go weak,” he teased, joy making him bold, his fingers skirting up under the tee-shirt Ben wore and tickling at ribs that were prominent enough that Hux could have kicked himself for what he’d allowed to happen. Never again, he swore; love might not make him perfect, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t, and when Ben breathed out a sigh, his skin twitching and jumping at the brush of Hux’ fingers, it was no decision at all to sweep his arms underneath of him and take him off his feet. In practiced fashion, Hux positioned one hand beneath his knees, the other across the width of his shoulders, cradling Ben to him, so that his head rested on his chest, just over his heart. “But don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

And he did, Ben held in his arms like something precious, the weight of him so slight that Hux hardly had to strain at all to lift him. Hux spoke the words into his hair as he carried Ben, arms thrown around his neck, across the expanse of the living area, the mural Ben had painted on his wall full and bright behind them in the light of mid-morning. Ben was giggling now, and he hid his face against Hux’ chest, though it did little to disguise his blush. It spread across his cheekbones like daybreak, under the paint streaked there, his protests difficult to take with any seriousness when they were punctuated with breathy little laughs stifled into Hux’ shirt.

“ _Hux-_! W-what are you-...?,” he gasped, even as his fingers held fast to the collar of Hux’ jacket. “D-don’t you have to be at work? A-are you _sure_ you- I mean… What about I-Imperial?”

Hux’s sofa was his favorite piece of all the furniture he owned, its ivory color as pristine as the day he’d purchased it, and as Hux stood over it, Ben in his arms, a weight he’d gladly hold forever and then another day after that, paint in the ends of his hair and along the fine bones of his elbow and all over that pretty face, he had a flash of the stains that would never come out, not with all the drycleaning in the world. But it was only a flash, and then he was dropping him there, eliciting another giggle from Ben, through the tears drying at the corners of his eyes.  Immediately, his hair fanned out over the white of the cushions, framing his face, the length of his legs laid out for Hux to admire. His face was flushed, his bottom lip swollen and pink, pride swelling heavy in Hux’ chest that he was the one to have caused that, and he studied Ben for a moment, took his time letting his eyes travel from the hollow above his collarbone to where his shirt had ridden up when Hux had tickled his ribs.

Hux sucked in an appreciative breath at the sight, a low whistle escaping from between his teeth. He’d thought Ben’s appearance strange when first they’d met, and then he’d thought him lovely, and now he knew he was both, the only person Hux would ever look at like this, each of his angles carved especially to suit tastes Hux hadn’t known he had. Made to drive him crazy with want, as Ben smiled up at him, shyly, like he still wasn’t sure how he looked to Hux, how much Hux desired him - and that made Hux’ mind up for him, any shred of restraint he might have had abandoned back in that diner on Broadway.

“Fuck Imperial,” he said, as rash as he’d ever been, taking his phone from his pocket and tossing it to land somewhere on the other side of the coffee table, before shucking his jacket entirely and abandoning it to the floor. “Fuck work.” He threw a leg overtop of Ben’s waist to straddle him, a knee planted on either side of his hips, hastily rolling his sleeves up around his elbows as he did so. The sofa was barely wide enough to accommodate the two of them, and Hux wavered for a moment before he steadied himself on Ben’s shoulders, leaning down to brush their noses together once more. “I’m not moving from this sofa until I’ve left no doubt as to just how much I want you.”  

Hux hoped that would take two days at least, and when he lowered himself to claim Ben’s mouth again, delving into him with less caution than he had the first time, his entire world was awash with color.

Ben didn’t know what to do with himself; this was too much, not enough, all he ever wanted, the scariest thing he’d ever done, the most perfect, the most safe he’d ever felt, the most confused - his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, but none of them stuck. Because he was flat on his back on Hux’ couch, pinned there by the wonderful, amazing, comforting weight of Hux’ body on top of his own, and he was not so much being kissed as he was being absolutely _devoured_. He’d never met anyone who’d kissed him like this, didn’t even know it was possible, had never dreamed someone could be so forceful and demanding and still make him feel… _worshiped_. Hux kissed him as if Ben’s mouth was water and he’d been lost in a desert, as if Ben’s lips, Ben’s body under gentle but oh so eager hands was a banquet and he’d been starved. It was as if Hux simply _couldn’t get enough of him_ , and the thought had him reeling, making him whimper softly into the kiss.

_He wants me._ The realization hit him like that proverbial ton of bricks. _He wants me. Oh my God, he wants… he actually wants me like this._

It had been so long since anyone touched him in any way even remotely close to this, so long since he’d felt that tension in the air, like electricity, a spark waiting to snap into flame, into fire, into an all-consuming fire-storm that would leave them sweaty, and sore, and… _real_. Before, the fire had always been extinguished before it ever had any chance of spreading - the fire-storm more like firework; intense, but short-lived. There had never been kisses, hands lazily roaming sweat-soaked skin and tousled hair - no soft whispers, no sleepy promises of more to come. It had always been fleeting, temporary; both parties aware that it would never be more than just another moment, just another encounter, just... another faceless, meaningless fumbling of hands and lips, a quick jerk off they didn’t have to do themselves - both of them back into their clothes and parting ways before they’d even worked through all the aftershocks.

But this was real. This was his to keep, at least for a while. For as long as Hux would let him.

_He said he loves me. He said he wants me. He loves me. He wants me here. He loves me. He… oh my God, he_ wants _me._

The thought had managed to stick, and now it went on repeat over and over again, as if the repetition would keep him sane through this mind-numbing display of want he was being given. But there was really little doubt as to the truth of Hux’ words; their close proximity let him feel that very clearly, and that had him blushing so furiously into the kiss that he worried his face would catch fire.

And Hux was a _really freaking good_ kisser - he had every right to be smug, because Ben could do little more than follow his lead and try to remember how to breathe. He was unsure of what to do with his hands, but he tried burying one in the wonderful red hair at Hux’ neck, and if the small groan that came in response was anything to go by, it was a more than welcome move. He tried gripping it a little tighter, eliciting another little noise, and he could barely contain the pride he felt at having managed that. After some little hesitation, he shyly let his other hand move downwards over Hux’ chest, around his back, to settle just under his shoulder-blade, clinging on for dear life.

It struck him that he’d never actually kissed anyone with a beard before, and while it was rough and strange against his skin, he also realized it made him all hot and tingly inside. It felt very good, and he gathered a little courage before moving both hands back to Hux’ chest so he could grip his shirt and pull him closer. Even the little distance between them felt too much, and Ben - for the first time in his life - refused to feel bad about this selfish and sudden need to try and make Hux as breathless and overwhelmed as he was. He wanted Hux to know he wanted this too, and right now, pulling him as close as he could possibly get and using what strength he had to keep him there was the only way he could communicate it - he wouldn’t have been able to say it out loud if his life depended on it; didn’t have words to put to all of the things he felt - but the way Hux seemed more than happy to oblige him made him happier than he could remember feeling.

It had been six months since Hux had kissed someone who wasn’t Ben, since he’d exchanged messy handjobs in the bathroom at a cocktail party he hadn’t wanted to attend in the first place, then zipped himself up, washed his hands, and straightened his tie before walking up to the bar like he hadn’t spent the past ten minutes hooking up beside the urinal. Hux couldn’t remember his name, but the encounter had been satisfying enough, if fleeting, and in the months that followed, the man - his features blurred, made recognizable only by the color of shirt and the short crop of his hair - had been the star of numerous fantasies, Hux jerking himself off under the covers of his bed, then forcing himself to change the sheets before falling asleep.

It wasn’t until he’d met Ben that the person starring in those fantasies had changed, and now, with Ben laid out beneath him, Hux marveled that he hadn’t recognized it sooner, the profile morphing into one more defined, with a soft jawline and prominent nose, the hair growing darker and more untamed, eyes more liquid and familiar. Ben had been the main attraction to Hux’ wet dreams, the reason for his cold showers, for far longer than he’d been willing to admit, even to himself. And now, he had the chance to touch and taste to his heart’s content, his fingers first at Ben’s jaw, tilting it up to give Hux better to his kiss, then skimming along his sides, featherlight and making Ben squirm, then - finally - settling at Ben’s thigh, squeezing intent into flesh that was sensitive and velvety soft.

All of his fantasies had paled in comparison to the feeling of having Ben warm and real and ticklish - _and who the hell had known Ben was ticklish? -_ pinned by his weight, the bones of Ben’s hips digging into his groin, Ben’s hands clumsy, made so by desire. Somehow, that did more to undo Hux than any more practiced motions could have. Hux was used to having experienced lovers, when he took them at all - men who treated these encounters as they did business transactions, unrattled, unaffected, as if hooking up in bathrooms was an everyday occurrence for which one should come prepared. Ben was a world apart from all of that, overstimulated and responsive, and when his trembling fingers fisted themselves in Hux’ shirt with such fervor that he felt a button catch and strain, the headrush Hux experienced rendered him dizzy, latching onto Ben in return as he planted a wet, open-mouthed kiss behind his ear.

He knew Ben could feel his arousal, wished he could curb it, but there was no hope for that - he already was near to seeing stars - so he forced himself to slow his ministrations, pulling away from that spot behind Ben’s ear with another, more chaste, kiss that had Ben whining in disapproval. Hux hummed deep in his throat at the sound and soothed over the slightly reddened and raised skin there with the nail of his thumb.

“Shhhh, love, there’s more where that came from,” he promised, sitting up enough that he could take in Ben’s face, read his emotions, though the evidence of Ben’s own arousal pressing against his thigh left little doubt of what he felt. “Let’s just… breathe for a moment. We have time.”  Hux looked serious then, already missing the feel of Ben’s skin on his lips. “I want to be sure I do this right and, so far, I’ve done a piss-poor enough job of that. I’m not going to ravish you the day I finally decide to get my act together.” Though that was exactly what he wanted to do.  Ben’s hair was ruined, static from where it had rubbed against the sofa sending it in all directions, making a nest behind his head, and Hux attempted to arrange it back into some semblance of order as he peered down into Ben’s eyes, the heady feeling that had gripped him lessening, though not disappearing, at the tenderness of the gesture.

“Don’t misunderstand me. There’s nothing - and I do mean _nothing -_ I’d like more than to give in to my baser instincts.” He grimaced at that. “But Ben, you’re worth so much more than a quick fuck after two weeks of the worst display I’ve ever made of myself. What do you say you let me make it up to you for a while - show you you’re not making the mistake Phasma must think you are?”

“Just...” and his voice betrayed him, still rough with desire when he went to say the words. “Just let me treat you the way you should be treated. I suspect this wasn’t the first time someone’s gotten it all wrong, but I want it to be the last.” He fixed Ben with a pleading look, brushing mussed hair away from his forehead. A week ago, he would have killed a man for the chance to touch Ben this way, yet now, the contact wasn’t enough; made greedy by Ben’s presence, it was all he could do to steel himself against the inclination to let his hand drift to other, less innocent places. If he truly meant to do this, he knew, truly meant to play the gentleman, keep his touches upstanding and forthright, there would be far more cold showers in his immediate future, and he shifted again over Ben’s hips, willing himself to behave.

Ben stared at him, caught in a sudden conflict between wanting to laugh at the sheer silliness of this whole situation, and wanting to scoff at this sudden - and entirely unnecessary - need to be a gentleman. Because really? _Really?_ When they had finally talked, when they had finally found out that their feelings and desire were very much mutual, when _Hux had carried him to the fucking couch_ \- as if they were in in some Hollywood romance - to kiss him until he was a panting mess of want and happy… _That’s_ when the idiot decided to get all chivalrous on him? What in the actual fuck? Didn’t Ben get any say in this? He had really enjoyed the direction this was all taking, and honestly, the feeling of Hux’ hard-on poking him in the hip was really rather exciting - he’d been more than okay with seeing where they could go with this. Being so blatantly desired did things to Ben’s heart that he really wanted to explore further. But no. Of course Hux would suddenly decide to run for Gentleman of the Year, and back away when it was all getting very interesting. Of course. Life, Ben thought, was such a _fucking bitch_.

He couldn’t stop his overly expressive right eyebrow from rising, his head tilted and lips pursed, as he crossed his arms over his bony chest.

“Really now?” he questioned, rolling his hips ever so slightly - grasped by sudden courage he didn’t know he possessed. But then again, when Ben felt this side of his personality surface, he did a lot of things he was usually too scared to do. “Do I look like I want a gentleman right now?”

Hux had to bite his lip to stifle whatever sound Ben made him make, and he had the decency to blush almost as red as his beard at Ben’s smirk. Deciding he liked that reaction, Ben did it again, and Hux looked like he didn’t quite know what to do with himself, or Ben, or anything - him gathering every last fraction of self-control he possessed was so obvious it was almost ridiculous, and Ben found it awfully endearing.

“I’m a big boy,” Ben said, the smirk turning almost devious. “I can do big boy things. It’s lovely that you want to treat me well, but - and this might come as a surprise for you - I’m not made of glass. I promise. And trust me, I am about as far from a blushing virgin you can get - I know what sex is, and I happen to enjoy it.” He bit his lip, looking away for a moment, then facing Hux’ dumbstruck gaze again. “But, you know, if you’re not up for this, you can just tell me so. I’m an adult. Treat me like one.”

“No!” The spike of arousal that the motion of Ben’s hips sent through Hux’ groin had him groaning, looking to the heavens because he wasn’t likely to get help from anywhere else. Ben was on a mission to destroy him, here and now; that much was certain, but oh, it would be a sweet destruction. “No no no no no, I’m… well, I’m _up_ for this, as you can see.” He gave an expressive shrug and an answering roll of his hips, cursing himself for his decision when it only served to exacerbate the problem, then had to stop to moisten his suddenly dry lips. “It’s only… it’s only... it’s not about the physical act…” But right now his prick disagreed; it very much _was,_ and Hux faltered over his words, Ben giving him a look that said he wasn’t any more convinced than Hux himself.

“I just want to make sure it’s the right _time,_ that we’re both ready. And not… not just because our bodies are telling us we are.” Hux tugged at his collar, where even his loosened tie was feeling too tight, heat creeping up his neck. “Dammit, Ben, you’re going to be the death of me, you know that?” He swore, but the words were said fondly, and he punctuated them with a touch to Ben’s inner wrist, fingers dancing up to the inside of his elbow - slow, careful strokes, meant to calm his racing blood as much as Ben’s.

The inside of Ben’s arm had escaped whatever disaster had befallen him with the paint; though streaks of purple from his elbow had smeared onto the sofa and specks of red from the ends of his hair had decorated its arm, the skin there, Hux imagined, was almost translucent, veins running blue beneath the pock-marks that seemed to extend over every inch of Ben’s body, as he traced the pads of his fingers up and then down again. With Ben, even _that_ was sensual, and Hux shuddered, heaving a put-upon sigh.

“If only you knew the things you do to me-” but Hux’ words stuttered to a stop when his touch caught upon something unexpected on the swatch of Ben’s skin, something raised and foreign, something that definitely had _not_ been there the last time he’d been allowed to touch Ben in this place. It was no surprise that the skin of his forearm wasn’t smooth. Back in the ER, the night he’d first met Ben, he’d seen the scars here, hadn’t needed a team of nurses to tell him what they meant - but that, he’d told himself, had all been in the past. Something Ben had _once_ done, before Hux had known him, something left over from the person Ben had used to be - the scars tragic, but by definition, a remnant of danger already passed. This, though… this wasn’t a scar, and Hux ran his forefinger over the patch of roughness a second time, reading the truth of it. It was barely healed, still fresh enough that, were he to pick off the scab, it would start to bleed again.

That served to set his head straight where all else had failed, concern and fear for Ben the only emotions that could have matched the want he felt for him. He understood now what had so upset Phasma, what had moved her to near tears in his office, and with great care, Hux flipped Ben’s arm over in his grasp, inspecting the damage. The injury itself wasn’t large - maybe a few inches across - the new skin around it pinkish and swollen in that way Ben had assured him meant healing rather than infection, but that still made Hux’ stomach tighten in something other than arousal.

He wasn’t stupid; Ben had done this, and not a year ago, not even a month, but recently. Not so long ago that Hux wouldn’t have noticed, had he cared to look. Below it, there were others, some in that same state of half-healing, some perhaps a few days older. And underneath all of them, there were the scars, Ben’s past embossed indelibly on his skin in raised lines - most about the size of the newer hurts, those still scabbed over, though there was one, longer and more damning, that ran almost the entire length of Ben’s forearm, from wrist to elbow, as if he’d tried to split himself clean open. Each, he knew without asking, had been inflicted by Ben’s own hand. _This_ Ben, not some stranger who had inhabited Ben’s body before he came into Hux’ life, but the same Ben who enjoyed music with lyrics Hux could barely understand and liked his tea so hot it scalded his tongue.

It was difficult to reconcile the two in his mind, even now, with the evidence laid out in front of him. That Ben would do this to himself, that Hux would turn a blind eye - that there were scars that were past and scabs that were _now_ and the thread of Ben’s being willing to put them there running through all of it - the weight of the realization slammed into Hux all at once. To know Ben was to know this part of him too; to accept him was to accept _this._ There was no locking it away, not anymore, not if he wanted to keep Ben, all the parts of him - even the difficult ones - and he forced himself to look at the state of Ben’s arm, to really _see_ it, the damage both new and old, his fingers not moving from where the largest of the cuts had scabbed over.

“Ben…” he began, the boy looking at him, stricken, blush gone from his face as it drained of all color. Beneath the freckles and moles, he had gone chalk-white. “For as much as I look forward to all of the activities the two of us are going to share, I think there’s… if there was ever a good reason for the two of us to take things slowly…” He shook his head; already he’d said it wrong, and Ben tensed underneath of him, as if waiting for Hux to decide to remove himself, so he could flee. “Ben, love, no. Stop. I’m sorry. That’s not… what I meant is, there are things we need to discuss, no matter how I wish I could do nothing but kiss you all day.” Without thinking, he brought Ben’s arm up to his mouth and placed a gentle kiss atop the scab, where he could feel the pulse of Ben’s blood just below the surface. It was rough beneath his lips, and he kissed it again. “Starting with this.”

“I- I’m at a loss here. I just want to know what happened. What’s- what’s _happening_ , if you’re able to explain it to me, and I think it would be more easily done were I not straddling your hips.” Hux gave Ben a little smile, arm still cradled between his hands, one thumb moving over the prominent bone of his wrist. “But I’ll only offer that if you promise not to run. Otherwise, I’m staying right here.” And he would. They’d reached something of a stand-off, because if the only way of keeping Ben here long enough for him to understand that this wasn’t the thing that was going to make Hux give up on him - that the unfamiliar feeling of being faced with a problem he didn’t know how to solve didn’t have to mean this was the end of the line for them - he’d keep Ben pinned to this sofa all day.

Hux cocked his head meaningfully, indicating that the two of them should sit up, then waited, the picture of more patience than he’d known he was capable of. Though the gruesome sight of the largest of the scars - one that could have _killed_ him had he slipped the wrong way dammit! - made him want to demand an explanation, a list of instructions telling him what to do to ensure this _never happened again,_ he remained still. The fearful cadence of his heart was the only concession he allowed himself, until eventually, Ben gave a reluctant nod, his mouth still drawn tight, as if he’d done something wrong. It was a look Hux never wanted to see on his face again ( _he had a mouth made for smiling,_ he thought, for a moment transported back to his administrative department floor), and determined to remove it, Hux remained pressed to his side even after he had crawled off of Ben and settled next to him on the sofa. Even when Ben curled in on himself as he had in the early days, too ashamed to accept Hux’ comfort, one arm cradled in the other.

“You can take your time,” Hux prompted, with a light touch to Ben’s ribs. “Or if you don’t want to talk, we can just… sit. Beru has some lovely, calming selections, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Ben shook his head, head too jumbled and at the same time too blank for him to really manage a verbal response right away. He curled in on himself further, shame, fear, guilt, and a thousand other similar emotions burned cold in his heart, anxiety squeezing it mercilessly, and he had to focus on just breathing, because this was just… Not something he’d ever wanted Hux to know about. He wasn’t supposed to see this! How could Ben have been so _stupid_ ? Painting the wall dressed in a t-shirt? And not only that, but getting so distracted by the kiss he forgot how to keep his wounds hidden? He should know better - and he _did_ know better, so how could he have fucked it up so badly? He’d managed to hide worse wounds than these from everyone, including the staff at two different psych-wards! How had he suddenly just… _forgotten_ about them? It shouldn’t have happened, and now Hux was upset. _Hux was upset and scared, and it was Ben’s fault._ It made him nauseous to think that these weren’t the only fresh wounds, either. How would Hux react when he saw the worse part? The collection growing on the inside of his thighs? He was so _ugly,_ and so damaged, and so fucked up, and now he had made Hux worry and Hux wasn’t supposed to worry about him and now everything was all wrong and it was Ben’s fault! _Fuck!_ He needed to get his shit together so he could fix this!

“I don’t...” he managed to wheeze out as he fought to calm his breath and racing heart. “No… no music. Please. I- I can’t...”

“Alright, darling,” Hux soothed as Ben found himself gently pulled into a tight but comforting embrace. “No music. Nothing you don’t want, I promise.”

Ben couldn’t tell how long they sat like that - Ben cradled to Hux’ solid chest like a child, hands oh so gently rubbing circles over his back and playing with his hair. Though the remnants of alcohol and smoke clung to Hux’ shirt, Ben could still pick up on his personal scent underneath it all, and he focused on that, forcing his mind to ditch any other thought but how much he had come to love that smell. With a deep, shaking breath, he buried his face in the junction between Hux’ neck and shoulder, where the smell of his super expensive and absolutely intoxicating cologne came through the most. Hux’ hand came up to cradle the back of his head, the other pulling him even closer - and Ben’s brain melted into a fuzzy feeling of comfort that he really wasn’t used to. He hated when people touched him, hated hugs, hated being held tight - it had always made him panic, made him feel trapped, made him feel a need to break free and run - but for whatever reason, he felt safer in this vice-like grip than he could remember ever having felt. And, in the end, that feeling was the thing that eventually gave him enough courage to jump head-first into the conversation he knew could very well mean that Hux would cut this whole thing off forever. After all, it was what people usually did. They made him talk about it, and then they left him. Everyone always left him.

But... no one had ever asked him to explain it the way Hux had. No one had ever sounded like they genuinely _wanted_ to understand him. He had to try. This was a chance that might never come again. _He had to at least try_.

 “Do… uhm, do you know what Bipolar Disorder is?”

 


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: graphic description/discussion of self harm, as well as the wounds/scarring caused by it, graphic description of past suicide attempt, graphic description of mental illness, brief mention of alcohol/drug usage.

Hux nodded, his chin brushing Ben’s hair where Ben had buried his face in his shoulder. He did know - or at least he’d heard the term before. _Bipolar Disorder._ The words in themselves didn’t sound especially threatening. He had read them in a book, more than once.  Had taken a psychology class in undergrad. Thought he’d maybe even known someone who’d known someone who had a cousin who had it. Or perhaps it had been a celebrity? He didn’t remember. All he knew was that none of those instances had anything to do with _Ben,_ and that made all the difference, as he hitched Ben closer to his side, fingers playing with the fine hair at the back of his neck while Ben’s nose cut into his collarbone.

Ben was on a long list of medications, medications Hux hadn’t questioned when, that first night at the ER, he’d been told that Ben needed them. For all of their unpleasant side-effects - the shaky hands, the food that sometimes just wouldn’t seem to go or stay down -  if Ben needed them, then he needed them, and that was that. He’d hadn’t known the diagnosis then, had only known that something was wrong that had left Ben with knuckles split open and the bones of his administrative apartment on the floor, but now he suspected Bipolar Disorder must have had something to do with it.

Okay. _Okay,_ Hux thought, mentally giving himself a shake. Ben had Bipolar Disorder. Was bipolar.  Maybe. Was that an appropriate way to refer to people who had Bipolar Disorder? Hux didn’t want to ask right then, not when Ben was shaking against him, holding himself together by a thread. (Or letting _Hux_ hold him together with a vice-like grip that Hux worried was too tight but that he wasn’t going to change as long as it seemed to make Ben feel more secure.) What mattered was that Ben did… _things_ to himself. Things Hux wasn’t yet ready to give a name to. He would have sacrificed his administrative department ten times over to never see another mark on Ben’s skin, and letting out a long exhale, Hux drew the fingers of the hand wrapped around Ben’s waist together until he made a fist. He didn’t have a single fully formed memory of his mother, knew only who his father had been after her death; if he lost Ben, and to something as silly as his own hand, to a blade he thought he knew how to use well enough that he could control the damage… if he could lose him so easily now, just after he’d found him… but _no._

Silently, Hux pressed the fist he’d made against the knobs of Ben’s spine - he wouldn’t think that way.

If Ben noticed, he didn’t show it. He didn’t appear in any hurry to elaborate, even after Hux nodded, only burying his nose deeper into Hux’ shirt and inhaling deeply, so Hux could feel the way his chest expanded with it. He felt so permanent now, so solid that Hux couldn’t imagine _not_ holding him, even with every one of his ribs so close to the surface Hux could have counted them by touch, and Hux’ thoughts wandered to his aunt, the one on his father’s side. Maybe she had had been bipolar too; his father had never said what her diagnosis was, only that she was _unstable_ , the word whispered like it was something dirty. At the time, Hux hadn’t realized what it meant, though he’d known better than to repeat it; it was only in later years that he’d understood, and by then he’d known better than to bring it up.

He hadn’t seen her since before she’d become ill, and hadn’t thought of her again until he’d met Ben, but now he wondered if her arms bore marks similar to his. If she’d had anyone she needed to explain _her_ diagnosis to. If she’d tried with his father. Hux hoped for her sake that she hadn’t - that maybe he’d learned of it through it a phonecall, and she’d never heard him refer to her the way he did.

If his father ever spoke about Ben in the tone he’d using when speaking of his own sister, if his lip ever curled up the way it had the last night he’d had anything to say about her, Hux would kill the man. He held no illusions about his ability to keep his temper in check - Hux had never feared him so much as held him in such extreme disregard that there was no reason to confront him - but then, that wouldn’t be something they’d have to worry about. His father would never set foot in the same room as Ben; he’d make sure of that, and as he relished the smell of Ben’s hair, he sincerely hoped his aunt hadn’t given a shit when she’d no doubt gotten the same call he had about the man’s heart attack. Maybe he would even look up her number and give her a call himself, he thought. He had the means to do so without reaching out to his father, and there was little that would have angered the man more. She probably would love to hear it, if she felt about him the way that Hux did, and perhaps more importantly, she deserved to know Hux hadn’t forgotten her.

A feeling nearly as warm as Ben’s body heat settled over him at the thought, and Hux found with it the courage to say more where Ben could not. He wasn’t certain he would ever be ready for the answer to the question he was preparing to ask, but he knew he needed to hear it.  

“Ben,” he began, wishing desperately for half the eloquence he found so readily whenever he dealt with partners or potential clients, whenever he was Ethan Hux, CEO, and not Ethan Hux, newly minted and rather unpracticed partner (or at least he hoped so, they hadn’t defined anything yet) of Ben Solo. “Is… is that the reason you did this? That you- uh- _do_ this? The Bipolar Disorder… does it make you… or- or was it me? Did I- Ben, I know how terrible I’ve been. Please tell me, did I make you do this to yourself?” The words made him cringe, thankful that Ben couldn’t see his face, with his own buried as it was.

And there it was, Ben thought, the ever present ‘why’ that people for some reason always thought he would have a neat and clear answer to. No one ever seemed to realize that even _Ben_ didn’t know why he did half the shit he did, but Hux had asked, and Hux really deserved some sort of proper answer. The shame burned hot in his throat; he had to swallow a few times to beat the nausea back down before he could even think of moving his lips. He wanted to cry, say something flippant, run for the hills - _anything_ to escape the conversation, the guilt, the fear. Suddenly, he just couldn’t stand being in Hux’ arms anymore, couldn’t bear the sense of comfort it gave him, because how the hell could Ben deserve this man’s comfort when he was about to drop a bomb of this magnitude right on his head? He had _no_ right to demand to be held like this, to feel this safe, when he knew how badly this was going to hurt them both to talk about. If Hux wanted to even be in the same room as him after this, that’d be a fucking _miracle_.

He pulled away, curling up as far into the corner he could - drawing his knees up to his chest and wrapping his undamaged arm around them as he forced himself to look at the wounds on the other - avoiding Hux’ gaze while he did. If he looked at him, he would just lose his nerve and they wouldn’t get anywhere with this.

“Bipolar doesn’t make me do shit,” he said, then winced as it came out harsher and meaner than he’d intended. But he was just feeling so incredibly fucking cornered and defensive, years of people’s bad reactions ringing in his ears. But he’d started it, so now he had no choice but to finish it. “ _I_ make me do shit.” He gave a humourless smile. “I… This isn’t your fault, okay? Sure, what you did didn’t exactly help, but I’ve done this for far more stupid reasons than that, trust me. I just… Fuck, I don’t know. When I get like this, I always end up like this. _Always_. It’s usually only a matter of how long I can fight it before it happens. It’s not anyone’s fault; I can find excuses in anything, and I know it’s fucked up, okay? I know. It’s stupid, and dangerous, and disgusting - I know. Sometimes...” He paused, licking his lips, trying to find the words. “Sometimes I, uhm, do it without knowing it. Like, I space out, and then I wake up, and I’ve done it again, and it’s scary. But most of the time-... most of the time it’s me. All me.” He went quiet for a moment, studying the ugly scabs on his arm. “It’s worse when I’m… when I’m depressed like this. When I’m m-manic I just… I don’t sleep for two weeks, then end up in the psych-ward - I don’t really think about, uhm, hurting myself. I don’t have time to. I just get anxious and angry, maybe hallucinate or something, and then I get admitted somewhere. I-it doesn’t happen a lot, though. I usually just, uhm, get depressed a lot. And I’ve been, uhm... I’ve been like this for a while now. Like, before that- _that_ day. I’ve just been waiting for an excuse. _Any_ excuse. It’s like...”

He had to pause again. Apparently, he’d started crying - the tears made his vision blurry, and it got harder to breathe through his nose. What a fucking sight he must be! Really looking the whole crazy person part now, wasn’t he? Splattered in paint, all scabbed arms and emaciated body, curled up on himself and fucking crying. _Great_. It was a wonder Hux hadn’t run away screaming yet. But, he reminded himself once more, he’d started it, so he might as well finish it. Didn’t want Hux to be able to tell him he hadn’t been given the full picture, that he’d never told him it was this bad. No, he’d give him the whole ugly truth - it wasn’t like he had anything to lose anyway. A bitter chuckle escaped him.

“It’s like being an alcoholic,” he said. “I’m an addict, and it sounds pathetic and morbid, but it’s what it is. Some people… Uhm, some people, when shit gets bad, they drink. And they know it won’t fix shit for them in the long run, but the long run doesn’t fucking matter, you know? Because it still works for a little while. It still _helps._ And I’m-... It’s, uhm, it’s the same for me. It helps me… helps me breathe. It’s not like- not like anyone else ever did shit to help me anyway. At least _this_ works.”

_No, it doesn’t,_ Hux wanted to say. There was a small, desperate part of him that wanted to yell it, though he rarely raised his voice and knew it would do more harm than good anyway. Wanted to take Ben and ask him _why._ Why, when hurting himself didn’t help _anything_? It didn’t it work; couldn’t he see it made it all _worse?_ Except, he thought, tearing his eyes away from the scabs they kept returning to even when he tried to look elsewhere - except maybe it didn’t. There were times Hux had a glass of wine with dinner because he liked the taste, because it complemented the pasta well, or the fish. There were times he looked forward to the taste of a well-aged scotch Phasma had picked out for him and demanded he try. And it wasn’t the same - of course it wasn’t - but then there were the times he drank… more out of habit. Because it was the end of the day and he simply didn’t know what else to do with himself. Because his hands were empty and they felt a little less so with a glass pressed between them.

Because he had pushed Ben away and the only way to blur the lines of his own failure had been to fill his glass until everything else blurred as well.

Ben had moved to the end of the sofa, putting as much distance between the two of them as space would allow, and Hux ached that he couldn’t reach out and touch him. He supposed he could have, but it looked like Ben wanted space, knees hugged close to his chest, his posture warning Hux not to try. He’d started crying while speaking, and as Ben swiped a hand under his nose, he looked at Hux balefully. With a hint of defiance, like he had said all he had to say and was now daring Hux to leave, after what he’d heard. Daring him to stay. The way Ben spoke of himself… Hux shook his head, it was as damning as the scars themselves. Maybe Ben had never met his father, but it appeared he hadn’t needed to in order to learn exactly what was said about people like him. There’d been someone else, someone in his own life, who’d taught him what happened when people found out. How important it was to hide the things he thought ugly about himself, no matter the cost.

Well, he’d learned his lessons well, Hux thought bitterly. This had been building for the entire time he’d been in Hux’ company - Ben wrestling the need to turn against himself, even when Hux had thought him content. At times, more than content - _happy._ And maybe he had been, but that didn’t change the fact that, for as long as Hux had known him, Ben had been someone who wanted to do these things, and Hux had never once suspected. _How_ had he never never suspected? How badly had he wanted not to see?  And worse, how long had Ben been left alone with this before him?  Had there _ever_ been anyone he could speak to about it? Anyone who hadn’t been repulsed? Who hadn’t immediately stopped recognizing him as the person they knew before the moment they’d seen? Anyone who had ever _asked?_

Looking at Ben hunched in the corner of his sofa, waiting for him to leave, or to stay, Hux knew the answer.

“You’re not disgusting,” Hux said quietly, after he’d let the silence drag on too long - because for all the things he _didn’t_ know, he was sure of that. “You’re… you’re _Ben_ , all the parts of him, and I love you. I know we’ve already established this, but I think it bears repeating. If this is something we need to deal with, then… then we deal with it.” Whatever that meant. As much fumbling as it took. As painful as it might be for the both of them. He laid his hand palm up on the sofa, inviting, giving Ben the chance to accept it if he so chose. “I… I’m going to ask for your patience in this, because I’m afraid I’m quite out of my depth here. I haven’t… I don’t know what this is like for you; I’m not even going to pretend I do, but I _will_ try to understand. And I can promise you now, I’m going to get it wrong at least half the time, but I will be here _to_ get it wrong. For what that’s worth.” It was hardly an inspiring promise, but as he offered Ben a crooked smile, it was the only one he knew he could keep.

“Whatever you’ve done - there on your arm, or… or in other places, you don’t have to hide it. Not from me. You don’t have to be afraid that I might see. I’m -” He let out a laugh that sounded half-hysterical. “I’m terrified enough for the both of us, believe me. But mostly of how thoroughly I’m going to fuck this up. Of… of making this worse somehow. Or at least failing to make it better. Which - which I know I can’t, of course I can’t. So that’s bloody stupid, isn’t it?” The fingers of Hux’ open hand flexed of their own accord. “But maybe the two of us… we can find _something,_ if you’ll let me in? Let me see?” Half-expecting Ben to tell him to mind his own business and not able to blame him if he did, he held his breath.

When Ben’s chilled hand settled on top of his, the touch hesitant, something uncoiled in Hux’ chest, and he twined their fingers together loosely, still not moving any closer, the decision to breach the gap between them left up to Ben.

“How-” he started, then swallowed hard. “How bad is it, really, _right now_? This time?”

Ben flinched at the question. No one ever asked that! No one ever wanted to hear past his initial explanation - they’d always just nod, pretend they understood, then tell him to stop doing it or they might have to admit him to the nearest psych-ward where they could ‘sort him out.’ The last time someone had wanted to know the full extent of the damage, it had been Leia; yelling at him for half an hour, then demanding he strip - right there in the living room, in broad daylight - and he struggled to remember a time he’d felt more humiliated. He’d been 18 at the time, and his body hadn’t been in its best condition. In fact, he’d been in much the same state then as he was now - only this time, at least, he didn’t have bandages over less than six hours old wounds on both his thighs. That was some sort of progress, right?

But why would Hux…? He- he wasn’t asking Ben to strip again, was he? Hux couldn’t possibly be that cruel, right? But… But he had asked to be allowed to see… Maybe Ben could just tell him there were more, and hope he wouldn’t press the issue.

Yeah, that would work splendidly until fucking bed-time. Because at some point, Ben would have to take these sweatpants off, and he had a hunch Hux wouldn’t let him sleep alone again after this. Actually, he hoped Hux wouldn’t; Ben didn’t want to sleep alone anymore - not when he could have Hux next to him, the smell of him all wrapped around him like a safety blanket. Not when he could feel safe, protected.

“It’s, uhm, it’s bad,” he admitted, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor by the couch. “I- I don’t think you want to see it, it’s-.... It’s not the worst I’ve ever done, but it’s not very…uhm, not very nice to look at.”  The hold on Ben’s hand tightened a fraction as Hux squeezed their palms together.

“I’m not asking you to show me right now,” Hux said, the hold on Ben’s hand loosening again. “Though you don’t have to be ashamed, whenever you want to. Or if you never want to. Or-” He cut himself off, scratching his beard awkwardly with his free hand. “I’m only asking because I really must know what we’re dealing with here. If there’s something… worse that I’m not seeing. If you - uh - need…  if you need medical attention. Because I won’t…. I would never pressure you, but if you’re seriously hurt, we need to do something about that.”

“N-no, I...” Ben bit his lip. “The, uhm, the other ones are older than these. They’re healing up, they’re just...” another bitter chuckle escaped him. “They’re just really disgusting. I don’t want to make you throw up or anything. Or put you off your appetite.” It was a morbid, but pathetic attempt at a joke, and he knew it. It wasn’t funny to anyone but him - these things never were. “I just… I-... later, okay? C-can we look at them later?” Oh, _shit_. How to explain what he needed in a way that made any sort of sense to someone who wasn’t… well, someone who wasn’t _Ben_. “I can’t just… just show them. It doesn’t work, it just makes me feel… gross. But if you… This is going to sound so weird, and I’m sorry, and if you really don’t want to, I’ll understand, I promise! I- I know this shit is nothing anyone really wants to know about, and I’m… I’m happy that you do, I just… D-do you think that maybe, uhm, when we go to bed-! Uhm, I mean, if, if I’m allowed t-to sleep in y-your room again - and I totally understand if you’d rather not sleep next to, you know, this.” He gestured to himself. “But maybe, y-you could just... God, this is going to sound so crazy. But if you could maybe just… touch them first? Like, not… not look at them. N-not say anything. Just… just that. Then maybe… I mean, I-I think it would be easier for me to… to be able to talk about it. I’ll tell you when you can, uhm, ask. But I just… I’m sorry, I’m not used to this. Normally people would have called the psych-ward by now, and I don’t really know what to do with this. You. Us. I just. This is so hard! I just… I just know that when… uhm, when you touch me, it helps. I don’t feel as disgusting. I-... it helps. It just helps.”

That did it, destroyed the last of Hux’ resolve, and he threw himself across the sofa to close the distance between them, pulling Ben to his chest and kissing the side of his head soundly, where he knew the shell of his ear was hidden under the fall of his hair. Did Ben not see, he asked himself, pressure building behind his eyes again. How could he not understand?  

“Ben, _Ben,_ ” he chanted, and in between every repetition of his name, Hux pressed a kiss, each a little longer than the last, to the same spot. “Ben, love. Sweetheart, if I haven’t been clear enough, I - I… Ben, the room is yours. The bed is yours. Everything in this apartment is yours, as much as it is mine. _I_ am yours, most of all, and if you what you need is for me to touch them…” Hux broke off, shuddering. That Ben wanted him to touch him, anywhere - but especially in places he’d always thought he needed to keep hidden - it was enough that he thought might fly apart with the weight of it. How was it that his touch could help? For so long, there’d been an obscene sort of guilt with every brush of his hand on Ben’s - the thought that this was something he shouldn’t be allowed, something selfishly taken. He’d never once considered that what he feared might break everything might just be the balm that would soothe it, at least a little.  

“If what you need is for me to touch them… “ His voice was thick. “God, Ben, there’s not an inch of you I wouldn’t consider it my honor to be able to touch. The places that you’ve hurt yourself, I…” Hux didn’t know how to form the words that he wanted to say, so instead, he moved his kisses to Ben’s forehead, his lips dry, a hand on either side of his head, holding him steady.  “I want you to know that I love those places just as much as I love the rest of you. The last time I slept well was the last time you slept next to me, and if I have my way, you’ll never sleep anywhere else for as long as you live. I want you near - where, if I’ve been given the privilege of touching the parts of you _you_ don’t like, I can make use of that readily and often. Can show you how much I _do_ like them, how far from disgusting they are to me. Can always remind you the way _I_ see you, in case you forget.”

And if Ben had been crying before Hux said that, he was practically bawling his eyes out now. Because, yes, that did it. Hux wanted him. Wanted to touch him - despite all the… ugly shit. He… he wanted Ben in his home. He actually wanted Ben to be here with him despite- Well, despite everything. Ben was allowed to stay here. Was allowed to think of this as _his home,_  and he couldn’t remember what home even meant before this. Before now. Hux promised to keep touching him, to keep him close. It was… it was _everything_.

“I’m- I’m so-orry,” he hiccupped, embarrassed that he was probably getting tears and snot all over Hux’ shirt. Hux’ really expensive shirt. But he couldn’t stop himself from just burrowing into his chest, needed the drumming of Hux’ heartbeat to keep him grounded, steady. To remind him that this was real. That Ben just admitted to being batshit crazy, and Hux still wanted him. That Hux still didn’t call him ugly, still hadn’t called someone to take him away. “I just… You... I’m- I’m just.. You really want me? Y-you actually want me here? W-want me to b-be with you? B-be yours? I-... I’m sorry, I just-! I’m so scared, I-... I’m happy, I _really_ am! I’m just… _no one’s_ ever… I’m allowed to have you, and I… I’m sorry I’m so fucked up! I’m sorry I’m not g-gonna be okay for a- a while. But I’ll try! I promise, I… I’ll get better. I just… _please_ , just… Don’t let go.”

If Hux even managed to make sense of that tirade, he deserved a fucking prize, Ben’s brain informed him. What the hell kind of love confession was that even? More like the epitome of pathetic desperation, but Ben just couldn’t form the words to try and salvage it now. He was reduced to that ugly, gut-wrenching sobbing state again, and he hated it. It hurt everywhere, and it made it impossible to speak in any even remotely coherent way, and he really didn’t fucking need this right now, but… But he was just so _relieved_. It was finally connecting with his brain that he wasn’t about to be thrown out, that all the things Hux had told him sounded an awful lot like him asking Ben to be with him, to be his… partner? Boyfriend? Whatever word a man like Hux would use for this… thing that had happened between them. He probably should ask Hux to clarify it - just one more time, just in case - because Ben knew better than to trust unspoken words and feelings. It never ended with less than heart-break. But he really needed to stop crying first, because right now, _he_ could barely understand himself!

Hux arranged himself so that he was leaned farther into the sofa, Ben sprawled bodily across his lap, and maybe had Ben weighed more, the position would have been uncomfortable. But as it was, even the sharp jut of Ben’s bones, all poorly coordinated knees and elbows as he wrapped his arms and legs around Hux, was nothing less than reassuring. He couldn’t have pried Ben off of him now had he tried, and honestly, as he shifted Ben so as much of him was cradled on his lap as would fit, Hux preferred it that way.

“I think you’ve been mine since late October,” Hux chuckled, watery and thin. “It’s just that it took me a while to catch on, and even longer to clear the decision with you. You’re not going to be rid of me now. If you think a few scars are enough to scare me away, you should see the state of my sofa. Clearly I’ve no affinity for things that are perfect.” Hux glanced down at the cushions; they were ruined, unsalvageable, and the chuckle turned into a fully formed laugh at the sight - which Hux suspected was unconventional given the situation, but since when had he and Ben ever done anything the conventional way?  

Once, Hux had had no use for things that _weren’t_ perfect, the ivory of his furniture matching the starched white sheets on his bed matching the perfectly put together men who captured his attention, all of them variable copies of himself - but, he decided, as he contemplated the sofa, he didn’t think he would have it replaced. Nor would he have it reupholstered. He’d leave it just as it was, a testament to the lesson Ben had begun to teach him: that some things came a little broken in, and that it hardly made them worth any less.

“Of course I want you to get better, love,” he said. “I want you to _feel_ better - but you do know that’s not a requirement of your remaining by my side, don’t you? The Ben I want… he doesn’t come with terms and conditions. He’s the Ben you were before I met you, the one you are - right here, right now. The one you _will_ be, whether you get better or worse or any number of things in between. That’s the Ben I want.” When Ben pillowed his head on his collarbone, Hux let out a contented sigh. “If you feel better tomorrow, we’ll celebrate it together - and if the next day you feel worse, well, then maybe we’ll just sit like this all day. But when things are bad, Ben - and I mean _really_ bad - I need to know, because there’s nothing we can do about it if I don’t. You understand that, right? That I won’t be angry? That I’d rather know when you’re _not_ feeling better than be surprised by it?” A few beats of silence interrupted only by Ben’s sniffling, and then there was a nod over his heart.

He took Ben’s arm in his hands and eased it over once again, so he could run his fingers the length of the worst of them, feeling the ridges where the flesh had knit back together. Yes, Ben had asked him to do this, but he needed it just as much.

“Because, Ben, this…” and Hux’ throat closed up at knowledge that it had all once been flayed open, an injury even beyond the scope of what he’d seen upon first meeting Ben. “This - a few centimeters more, and this could have killed you. If- if this had gone wrong…” He couldn’t finish the thought.

“The only thing that went wrong with it,” Ben said, the bitterness clear enough to taste. “Is that I survived it.” He reached his other arm out, letting Hux see both scars. “Not a few centimeters more, Hux. What I did was more than enough, and I knew it when I did it, and I- I meant to do it. I didn’t do it to hurt myself, okay? I wasn’t careless, and I knew exactly what I was doing - and fact is-... fact is that I had no intentions to survive it. And I know that’s, uhm, that’s really _not_ what you want to hear - but that’s what it is. I tried to kill myself, and I failed, and now I have to live with these. I’m a crazy person, remember? It’s what we do, even though I obviously suck at it since I - despite my efforts - haven’t actually managed to off myself yet.”

_Okay, this is it_ , Ben thought. _This is where he leaves. This is the dealbreaker_.

He knew the flippant way he’d just said all of that would have earned him a good punching around had Han heard him, and he knew he was probably being cruel. But Hux wanted the truth, and this was it. If he wanted Ben as much as he said - if he really, truly, loved every aspect of Ben - then ‘batshit insane, suicidal fuck-up Ben’ was part of the package too, no matter how much Ben wished he could just magic all of that away. There just wasn’t any way for him to sugarcoat this, to make Hux believe it wasn’t as bad as it really was. Hurting himself? Yeah, that he could still explain (and explain away), but anyone with half a brain knew that there was a pretty fucking _huge_ difference between hurting yourself during depressive episodes, and actively trying to kill yourself. Nothing he could possibly say would ever make that _not_ a terrifying thing to hear - especially for someone who had obviously never had much experience with any of the shit Ben dealt with on a daily basis.

And if there was anything that made people head for the nearest exit, despite what promises they might have made, it was usually the realization that they’d hooked up with someone _who might actually decide to_ _do this again_ \- who might end up in hospitals on a regular basis, who might go through periods of time when they could not be left alone even for a second - and that was an investment most people just couldn’t make. It was so beyond what _anyone_ should have to be willing to put up with, and if Hux decided to back right out of it, Ben sure as hell wouldn’t blame him.

He was sure he could actually feel Hux’ heart skipping a beat when he’d told him the truth behind the scars, and now he could do little else but hold his breath and wait for the inevitable freaking out.

Hux’ hands tightened unconsciously around Ben’s wrist, desperate to hold in blood he was years too late to stop from spilling, his vision shrinking to scars that suddenly looked more condemning than they had just moments before. Ben had… Ben had meant to kill himself. To take his own life. Had almost succeeded, if the state of his wrists had anything to say about it. The one along his right forearm was just as long as the one on his left, a little more jagged. Done with a hand not quite as practiced, and then Hux’ stomach was climbing up and into his throat, a distant buzzing taking up residence in his ears. He should say something, he knew, should assure Ben that what he had just told him was alright, that it didn’t matter - except it _wasn’t._ Except it _did._ It wasn’t alright that Ben had wanted to die. Or at least not to be alive anymore. It wasn’t alright that he had done the job so well. Almost too well. Almost well enough that Hux had never gotten to meet him at all.

_Nothing was alright,_ and Hux struggled to loosen his grip when he felt it go so tight it must have become painful for Ben.

There was a part of Hux that had always known, he realized. A part of him that had recognized the scars for what they were, for the intention that came with them. A part of him that would never have used the word ‘suicidal’ when referring to Ben, but that had seen in the way Ben talked about himself that he had little enough value for his own life. It shouldn’t have been a surprise - and how different was this, anyway, from what Ben had already told him? Already he knew that Ben had taken a blade to his own skin - here, in Hux’ own apartment, when Hux had been too up his own ass to notice. How much more did it take to turn a cut only meant to harm into one that could kill?  

Hux had to swallow down on a wave of horror. If Ben had tried once, would he try again? He didn’t sound as if he regretted it, so much as he regretted that he’d failed. If Hux hadn’t come home when he did - if he’d went to work instead, or had gotten so drunk he hadn’t been able to find his way back across town, or if Phasma had never slapped him across the face and he’d just gone on as he had been, treating Ben as a stranger in the place he slept each night, would the same thing have happened now? Would, when he finally looked far enough outside his own selfishness, he have found Ben bleeding out? Already dead?

Did the possibility exist that that might happen, even now - even after he’d allowed Ben to become a centerpointe he was already irrevocably fixed around, after he’d allowed _himself_ to enter into an orbit he didn’t want to think about breaking free from?

_You can fix this,_ a voice inside Hux’ mind tried to reason with him. _He didn’t want to live before because he didn’t have… anyone. Didn’t have you._ But Hux knew that wasn’t true. Whatever had driven Ben to open his wrists still lived within him, maybe quiet now while he was pressed against Hux’ chest, but no less present. He’d already forced himself to reconcile the truth when it came to Ben’s ability to hurt himself; Hux wasn’t so much of a hypocrite that he’d try to deny the same held true for this too.

“Thank- thank god you didn’t. That you haven’t,” Hux breathed, thoughts tinted red with the stains of Ben’s blood. He’d been covered in it once before, in it up to his elbows, warm and sticky and smelling of pennies and there should have been something he could say to make Ben promise he wouldn’t do it again - not if he loved Hux - but Ben hadn’t even said that yet and Hux couldn’t ask that of him anyway. Snatches of words flitted through his mind wildly, half-formed thoughts, things he could say to fill the silence, to take away the gnawing feeling just under his sternum that threatened to burst forth from the cage of his ribs. To make Ben say he’d been wrong and that he hadn’t wanted to die and that he’d realized it the moment he’d taken the second cut just a stitch too far.

Which would have been a lie, and he didn’t want Ben to lie, but neither did he want the truth to be what it was.

“I- I didn’t know that you… I…” Hux hugged Ben’s arm to him, where he knew Ben must have been able to feel the way his heart kept time in his chest. _Good,_ Hux thought, _let him feel that I’m alive. That he’s alive. That it is absolutely unacceptable for him to be any other way._

“I didn’t know that you ever tried… ever tried to…”  Two false starts in, Hux almost skipped the words altogether, but somehow, it felt important that he say them. “I didn’t know you had ever tried to kill yourself, but Ben- I’m…” There was the brokenness of tears in his voice when he started again. “I’m so incredibly grateful that you failed - and I know how stubborn you are. That you failed at all is…” It shouldn’t have happened, he knew that. Ben shouldn’t have been here, with him, and if that wasn’t all the proof Hux needed that he had to find something to say that made use of the chance he should never have been given, he didn’t know what was. “That you didn’t do what you set out to do, I don’t know how that happened, because you’re damn near unstoppable, Ben Solo.” He choked on what could have been a sob, had he not caught it in time.

“But you did, and you’re here, and goddammit, I know I’m saying all the wrong things - see, I told you I would, I just didn’t think I’d do it so bloody soon…” Hux bit the inside of his cheek to silence his rambling. “But I want you to _continue_ being here, and more than that, I want _you_ to want to continue being here. I told you the apartment is yours, and I want you to explore every nook and cranny of it, to pick a room and make it your own - not, not to sleep in, of course, but maybe for your art, a drawing room, or painting? - to read all the books in the study, at least those that interest you, to get used to the way the city looks in the morning through the windows when you get out of bed. There’s so much for you to do - for us to do together, and you can’t do any of that if you… _you know.”_

“So I know I’ve no right to ask you to make promises you don’t know if you can keep right now,” Hux continued, the words rushing out of him now that he’d started. “But can you at least give me your word that, if ever you feel that way again, you’ll say something? So that we can do all we can to meet it, and mitigate it. To manage it, so that the two of us have the chance to…  so that we don’t miss out on all of these things? Or any of them?”

“Y-you’re not saying the wrong things!” Ben croaked out, desperately needing to make sure Hux knew at least that. “I’m not-... I’m not at that place now, and I don’t, uhm, I don’t want to be - I want to… I really _want_ to be here, I just… I don’t regret what I did, and I know... I know you’ll need to know what happened at some point, it’s just...it’s so hard to talk about-!” His voice cracked at the end, and he had to try and breathe through a new round of sobs before he could continue. “But I want to stay with you. I’ve never… Y-you’re the first person not to yell at me or leave me for this, and I… It means so much, and I just… I don’t always know how to talk about it, and I’m not… I just need you to understand that I can’t always control this. I’m sick. I have a disorder, and I’m doing what I can to keep it in check, but I won’t ever recover, okay? This is what I’m _like_. My brain is wired this way, and I’ll get depressed again - and maybe manic too - but I’m trying, I promise I’m trying! ” He dislodged himself a little so he could look at Hux, because right now he needed to be able to read him - needed to have more to go by than just words. Because while words were easy to lie with, faces weren’t. There were always giveaways, and Ben needed to be sure he didn’t miss one.

“I want to be with you, but if this is going to work… If there’s going to be an ‘us’ from now on, I… I need you to be clear about things. I need you to tell me things straight up - don’t wrap them up, don’t sugarcoat, just… I won’t always be able to, uhm, to trust you if I don’t understand you, or if I don’t know if you’re keeping things from me. I… I can’t do that. I need… I need you to tell me-” He had to stop to rub some tears away from his eyes as they began to sting too badly. “I need you to tell me _what_ we are, what you want us to _be_ . I can’t do this if I’m just… if I’m just someone you can do this with at home, but pretend not to know when we’re out. I can’t… I can’t do that whole thing of pretending not to be something we really are, and I’m not making any fucking sense right now, and I’m sorry.” He swallowed, daring himself to do the very thing he was by far the worst at; making a demand. “I need you to tell me straight up - no talking around, no sugarcoating, no flowery language - what you want us to be, and what’s going to be expected of me. Because I can’t give you what you want until I know what that is, and if it’s even something I’m capable of. You say you love me, but I don’t know what to do with that if I don’t know what that will _look_ like, you know, in practice. Just… be clear with me, ‘cause I honestly don’t think I have a single trauma left in me. I can’t do all of this again without losing my mind completely, ‘cause-...fuck, I’m just so _tired,_  okay? I’m so, so tired of my brain being like this and always fucking shit up, but I need to know. I need-… I need to know if I can let you in.”

Ben’s mouth hadn’t yet closed from speaking when Hux surged forward to kiss him, so hurried that he angled it wrong and knocked their teeth together with a painful _clack_ , his head ringing at the impact. It was, by far, the worst kiss Hux had ever delivered - sloppy and desperate and not even the way his front tooth was smarting was enough to stop it as he sucked on Ben’s lower lip, almost hard enough to bruise. Ben needed words, yes, but Hux… Hux needed _action,_ needed to kiss the extent of his devotion into Ben’s mouth until it was imprinted into his teeth. Until he couldn’t remember a time Hux didn’t want him, because already Hux had forgotten what it was not to.

What would being with Ben be like, Hux wondered, as Ben finally responded to the kiss with a demanding, impatient nip to Hux’ lip, a pair of hands planted on Hux’ chest. What would living with the day-to-day of his illness mean for the two of them? What type of relationship would they have? Would Ben ever be able to go off the medication he was on now? Would he ever manage to eat a real meal without it becoming an ordeal? Would Hux ever wake up to Ben touching him with hands that didn’t shake first thing in the morning? Would the two of them ever walk to the cafe on the corner of his block for breakfast - talk there over eggs and coffee, rather than counting out bites from pudding cups until enough was down that he could take his morning round of pills? Would Ben ever accompany him to company dinners, sat at his side while Hux’ hand rested surreptitiously on his thigh under the table, Hux fading into the background as Ben outshined everyone else at the party?  

Hux didn’t have the answer to any of these questions - to whether their life together would ever look _‘normal.’_ But, he decided, as Ben put his knees under him to lean up and into the kiss, nearly knocking Hux over in the process, he didn’t need to. There was nothing to mourn. Whatever he had wanted before this - however he had imagined his life might look - it had all changed since Ben had literally crashed into Hux’ photo-ready existence. He’d come in, turned everything on its head, made a mess of it all - made a _home_ in Hux’ heart - and there was no taking it back now. With Ben, all of Hux’ rules had changed. What could he do but learn to play by them - and why wouldn’t he? The things he was giving up he wouldn’t miss. Normality could go fuck itself, as far as he was concerned, Hux pulling back far enough that his eyes didn’t have to cross to look at Ben’s face. Who needed it? He had _Ben,_ better than any spread _Esquire_ could have laid out of his life before _._

“You can,” Hux swore, fierce and breathless, and he meant it as much as he’d ever meant anything. “You can let me in. I… the man I was before this… you shouldn’t have. Couldn’t have. He was no one anyone should have trusted. He’s… _I’m_ no one you should trust most of the time, even now. But Ben -” The tears had left Ben’s face red and blotchy, his nose running slightly even after the kiss, his eyes so swollen they looked sore. Hux had never loved him more. “Ben, the person I am when I’m with you… I don’t know him. But…” Hux’ hands twisted helplessly in his lap. “But I think I want to.”

The person who called Ben at lunch and picked out foods Ben liked and made an effort to _not be so goddamned anal all the time._ Who didn’t care if he left a jacket on floor by the coat rack or a half-empty mug of coffee gone cold in the sink. Who was a better friend to Phasma and who remembered to thank Mitaka when he got his Starbucks order just right. Who was someone other than the CEO of Imperial Marketing, something aside from his title, more than his work. _That_ was the person he was when he was with Ben; the rest of it, he’d have to figure out for himself, and he untangled his fingers to take Ben’s hand between his own, a proposal of sorts.

“Without you, I - I never will. Thirty-three years and I’ve never even tried.” He breathed in deeply, trying to extinguish the wild fluttering in his chest. “So - love, it would be the greatest privilege of my life to call you my partner in this. In all things. As I’ve already told you, the penthouse is yours. It isn’t a home without you anyway. The cars, well, you haven’t seen much of them yet, but you’re welcome to those too, if you’re so inclined. Even half of Imperial, though I don’t think you’ll want it, pain in the ass that it is. But mostly it’s me you’re signing up for.” The smile on his face was genuine, if tremulous, as he continued. “If you don’t like the word _‘partner’_ \- if it sounds too much like a business transaction - we can come up with something else, although I’m not altogether sold on referring to you as my boyfriend. Neither of us is in high school anymore.” He gave Ben’s hands a little shake to show the statement had been made in fun, before bringing them up to lay against the side of his face, over his beard.

“What do you say, Ben?,” Hux said, trying and failing to keep the nervousness out of his voice. “Does that sound like something you’d like to give a try - terminology notwithstanding, of course.”

Ben’s mouth opened and closed a few times, and his exhausted brain tried to process it. _Too many words, dammit!_ There were still too many words, and while he was sure he’d picked up on something that sounded like ‘partner’, and ‘half of’ something, and he was pretty sure the word ‘boyfriend’ had been in there as well, he just couldn’t stick all the stuff together into something coherent. This was something he really hated about his brain; when it ran out of energy, it did so with a vengeance, and in about half a fucking second, leaving him gaping like a fish while trying to piece together words he knew he’d heard a thousand times, but suddenly forgot the meaning of, into something that might actually make sense. His therapist had told him that this was normal, that the depression burned away so much energy that his brain basically ran on empty. Stress made it worse, and he was far from the only one this happened to.

Hux was smiling at him, that much he could process. Looked at him like… like he’d put the sun in the sky, despite his eyes being all red and puffy. He’d been crying too? But it was... okay? He was still smiling, holding onto Ben’s hands and letting him cup his face, feel the scratchiness of his beard against his palms. It felt good. He could feel Hux’ smile under his hands, and there… there were no lies. Every last bit of his posture, the look in his eyes, the way he held Ben, the rise and fall of his chest… Hux was _happy_ , because he had Ben in his lap, because he had Ben’s bony hands on his face, Ben’s ugly post-crying face right in front of him.

So, obviously whatever it was he’d said had been positive. It had been a good thing. Ben dared a cautious, apologetic smile of his own, and the effect on Hux was immediate; he’d never actually thought a person could beam this bright when they smiled, but Hux did. It made him happy that Ben smiled? Ben wondered if Hux would ever realize how much that meant to him.

“I, uhm….” he began, biting his lip and blushing - trying to be brave enough to maintain eye-contact. “I’m sorry I’m like this, but I just… I didn’t really follow what you just, uhm, what you just said. My brain... It’s… I’m sorry if I’m annoying, but, uhm, did… did you just say that you want us to be a c-couple now? T-that we… that we _are_ a couple?”

Hux was smiling so hard even his teeth hurt with it, but he didn’t think there was a single thing in the world that could have stopped him as he held Ben’s hand to his cheek. He’d never thought himself unhappy before, had never considered that there might be something more than the rush of acquiring a new client, of hanging a new piece of artwork, bought at an auction, in his penthouse - but that was because he’d never held Ben in his lap, trusting and open for the first time, despite everything his better judgement should have told him. His face could have split open with how widely his mouth turned up, and he shook his head, laughing at his own giddiness.

“Yes, Ben, _yes_ ,” he said, his voice overflowing with relief now that it was all out in the open. “We’re a couple.” It was _official;_ Ben was his… his… whatever they were going to call it. They’d worry about that later. What would he tell Phasma? Then again, he thought, maybe he wouldn’t have to worry about it for long. There was no telling whether he would survive the ordeal or whether she would just murder him straight out. But if all he had left was the time until Phasma discovered their newly defined relationship, Hux was going to make the best of it, and he placed his hand on Ben’s face, a mirror of Ben’s on his - let it linger there for a moment before leaning in and kissing Ben once more, chaste this time, just a touch of their lips that ended when Hux brushed them over Ben’s cheek.  

Ben was having none of it. This was… this was just not something you could tell a person, and then think you could just get away with a peck on the lips. _No way_. Even Ben knew that! So when Hux pulled away, Ben followed, drawing courage from the happiness, the giddy, silly, stupid, amazing feeling blooming in his chest, burning so strongly he worried he might actually catch fire. He wrapped his arms around Hux’ neck and kissed him with everything he had, because that was at least something he could do even with his piece of shit brain having temporarily forgotten how to use words. Hux really was a very good kisser, and Ben was thankful for that as he took back the lead of it when Ben lost focus for a second - distracted by the sense of comfort that came with Hux pulling him close again.

Eventually, and very much to his displeasure, air really started to become a necessity, and when they parted, Ben burrowed back down against Hux’ chest - iron grip not loosening even a little as he closed his eyes and allowed himself to relish the feeling of belonging. He did belong now. There was a place in the world for him, and it was right here. He was allowed to have this. Not just… not just the space of the penthouse, not just Hux’ attention and affection, but _this moment_. He was allowed to actually let himself relax and not worry about this being taken away from him. The silence was comfortable, Hux’ hands gently playing with his hair, rubbing circles and little patterns on his back, and Ben let his mind just… rest.

But the downside of being as skinny as he was, was that he wasn’t very comfortable for himself to lie on, and eventually he had to adjust himself a bit to avoid accidentally bruising himself by means of a bony elbow or knee. As he did, he took the opportunity to press a kiss to the side of Hux’ neck.

“I like the word _‘partner’_ ,” he murmured, feeling like he should at least try to contribute _something_ to the process of defining what they were. “Feels, you know, equal. I… I’d like that.” He kissed the same spot again, nuzzling Hux’ skin. “Just don’t call me your lover or anything. That sounds weird, like it’s just… you know, sex.”

They were quiet again for a while, Ben having let himself relax to a point where he felt almost like a blanket rather than a person - but he’d really drained himself of all energy, and Hux was warm and solid, and the spot by his collarbone where Ben had snuggled close smelled very good, and Hux’ arms kept him there; tucked away between the backrest and Hux’ body, safe from the rest of the world - and he knew he might actually end up falling asleep like this.

_Home_ , he thought. _This is home. This. With him._

“Hux?” he mumbled, not even trying to lift his head - refusing to, as a matter of fact. Hux gave a small hum in reply, and Ben smiled. “I… you know, I love you too.”

\---

Time slipped away from them after that. Hux hadn’t slept the entire night before, having spent it wandering down cold streets, looking for answers that had been right in front of him all along, and eventually, he began to dose too - not really sleeping, but somewhere between awake and dreaming, letting his eyes close only to open them again a few minutes later to remind himself that the warm weight across his legs truly was Ben. That all of this was real, and that, if he hadn’t been the luckiest man in New York before this, he certainly was now. Maybe in the whole of the world. At some in the early afternoon, Millicent came to join them, curling up in the hollow left by the bend of Ben’s knees and purring against Hux’ ankle, where his slacks had ridden up above his socks. Apparently, he thought, stifling a laugh so as not wake Ben - he needed the sleep, the poor boy - she had forgiven him as soon as Ben had.

He never once thought about calling Imperial, not even when his phone started vibrating from the other side of the coffee table, instead asking Beru to increase the volume on Rachmaninov’s _Symphony No. 2_ until she drowned it out, his hands occupied with running strands of Ben’s hair through his fingers. By the time Ben finally woke, the sun was sinking lower in the sky, the mid-December days the shortest of the year, and Hux’ lower half had long gone numb, except for the gradually increasing pressure in his bladder. They roused just enough that Hux was able to limp to the restroom and call for dinner (studiously ignoring the list of missed calls demanding his attention). When it arrived, they ate it right there on the sofa, the television on in the background, while Ben stretched out between Hux’ legs, resting against his chest as Hux broke off bites of his favorite sushi for him to eat.

It was the most perfect day Hux could remember having, the sense of calm that pervaded the penthouse reminiscent of the quiet spaces in between words, and when, at the end of it, Ben commented dreamily that he thought the living area could really do with a Christmas tree and all the best ones were going to be picked through if he waited much longer, Hux couldn’t have denied him anything. Not with how soft and satisfied Ben’s face was in the low light. It was high time he got Ben out of the apartment, he supposed, and there was still the small matter of introducing him to the fleet of sports cars he now had half-ownership of.  

And Hux hadn’t yet taken such leave of his senses that he said it out loud, but well… he’d never taken Ben on a proper first date, had he?

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations to the happy couple! Though if you thought Ben was a damsel in distress without a will of his own, well... not so much. He's just been sorely in need of someone capable of actually listening. Someone, one might say, like Hux.
> 
> Tell us how you feel about that - we wanna know! Reach out to Loke (ficlet-machine) or Cat (thegoodlannister), both on tumblr. Or come see both of us, if you're feeling especially ambitious.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings apply for this chapter, other than a brief mention of a (past) car accident. Happy very late holidays, everyone!

Hux’ gloved hand rested on the steering wheel, leather squeaking together when he made the first hard right turn out of the city. The interior of the Mustang GT 500 was all custom upholstered in rich, deep brown, the plush leather seats heated with a press of the key fob before they’d ever stepped foot outside the apartment. He had the window open just a crack, enough to let the bracing wind in to ruffle his hair - it just wasn’t a drive without it, as far as he was concerned - and he turned to Ben, gauging whether he was warm enough. The weather was warmer this afternoon than it had been, the sun burning off the chill and fogging the windshield, and the heater in this thing worked like a charm, pumping enough warm air that he’d maneuvered himself out of his peacoat only a few minutes after they’d gotten on the road. It was Ben who tended toward coldness, but when he smiled back at Hux, he too was loosening the plum scarf at his throat, the flush on his cheeks the product of happiness and artificial heat, rather than the chill.

They were at a comfortable coasting speed now, the congestion of the traffic breaking up enough that Hux was content to take his hand off the shifter and place it on Ben’s thigh, giving it a quick squeeze before letting it settle there. He’d kick it up once they had truly left New York behind, really show Ben what his baby could do. The thought sent up a flutter in Hux’ stomach that made him feel half a teenager again; he didn’t know if Ben was the type to be impressed by the squeal of tires on pavement, but he hoped so. While Ben hadn’t talked much about cars, he looked at Hux’ collection appreciatively enough - and when Hux had asked which car he wanted to take for their outing today, Ben’s eyes had flickered toward this one. Hux had to admire the boy’s taste; it was a good choice. The Mustang wasn’t the most expensive of his cars - not by far - nor was it the most extravagant, or perhaps not even the fastest. But it _was_ Hux’ favorite: a Ford, royal blue, paint embossed with iridescent flecks of gold. Where the rest of his fleet was made up of imports - custom-ordered and brought over by boat only after Hux had made brief trips to Italy or Germany to choose their coloring and upholstering and to give them a test-drive before delivering payment - this one had been conceived right here in the United States.  

Yes, he thought, steadying the wheel with a knee when the sun flashed in the rear-view mirror and he had to let go to dig in the console for his sunglasses, there was something about the Mustang that felt… down-to-earth. Sturdy. Like the city he had called home for the past almost three decades. He never felt more the self-made businessman than when he sat behind the wheel of this car, driving gloves on his hands and sunglasses shielding his eyes. While it was more convenient to rely on his town car his while in the confines of the city - there was hardly a man who knew the streets better than his driver - being chauffeured would never give him the freedom of driving for himself. Of the open road under his tires and a 600 horsepower engine under his hood, unfamiliar trees and homes that sprawled like none in New York speeding past windows left open to let in air that smelled of something other than concrete and street food.  Something crisp and cool and undefinable.

As he slipped the glasses on his face, he couldn’t help but grin widely in Ben’s direction, and Hux pressed down on the gas, revving the engine once, just because he could. The sound sent a spike of exhilaration up and through him, like it always did, though Ben jumped a little, his hand gripping at the seat.  

“You doing alright, darling?” Hux asked, chuckling apologetically, and he tightened his hold on Ben’s thigh until he saw his grip on the seat loosen. It took Ben a moment, but eventually, he gave a nod Hux deemed acceptable and relaxed fully, his hand coming to rest on top of Hux’ and holding on. “Don’t worry - it just gets better from here.”

And wasn’t it the truth? He and Ben had only been “official” for a couple of days, but already Hux knew he wouldn’t trade it for the world. If he thought it had been a dream to have Ben in his bed before, now… well, now his getting to go to bed with Ben at night was his reason for getting up in the morning at all. Where before he’d relegated himself to his side of the bed, now he and Ben bundled into the middle, taking up only a third of the king-sized mattress, Ben’s head pillowed on his chest, right where it should be. His head, they’d learned, fit perfectly under Hux’ chin, and Hux would rub his beard along it, mussing Ben’s hair and then dropping apologetic kisses over the mess, before doing it all over again, and while there was no need for a bed so large when the two of them slept so closely intertwined, Hux would never have dreamt of purchasing a smaller one. He had plans for making use of the space later on.

That first night had been difficult. He’d thought Ben wouldn’t be tired after spending most of the day asleep, but he was still so exhausted when the time had come to move to the bedroom that the only reason Hux hadn’t carried him the whole way was his insistence that he was capable of walking - though his movements were so uncoordinated and clumsy that they didn’t do much to prove his point. Half-way there, Hux had swept him up into his arms, and once he was laid on the  bed, legs dangling over the edge of it, had undressed him for the first time, hesitating at the drawstring of the sweatpants Ben wore. Had run his finger over the waistband, asking if Ben was sure - and in the fantasies he now knew were about Ben, this was where Ben told him _yes,_ he was sure, he wanted this, wanted _Hux,_ prompting Hux to lean down and kiss his way down the outline of Ben’s cock, already half-hard, before unwrapping him completely.

But it hadn’t been one of Hux’ fantasies, and there’d been no hint of arousal as Ben had nodded, shimmying to help Hux ease the sweatpants off, all soothing touches at the curve of his hip. He had only been half-exposed, the sweatpants only part-way down his thighs before he threw his forearm over his eyes and turned his head so that it was buried in the pillow, unable to look at Hux anymore. When the shame burned a dark swath over his chest where Hux had removed his tee-shirt, he had ghosted a touch over the place where Ben’s skin, near translucent here it was so rarely exposed, disappeared under his boxers. Hux hadn’t taken it personally that there had been no sign of interest from Ben’s cock, because that wasn’t why they were here anyway. There would be time for that later, and that night, in light Ben had insisted Hux dim enough that he could barely make out the outline of his profile, Hux had disregarded it entirely, instead focused on traversing the scarred terrain of Ben’s thighs with the pads of his fingers, Ben gasping at each light touch, nails scrabbling at the bedsheets.

Hux hadn’t needed to ask to know that he’d done it to keep from asking Hux to stop.  

The flesh there would have been sensitive anyway, but it had been made more so by years of abuse, goosebumps following the path of Hux’ touch wherever the skin had not been so damaged that it prevented them, his thighs trembling, muscles tensing under the attention, no matter how slowly Hux went, telling Ben in between each movement of his hands where he’d be touching him next. With years of his private suffering laid out before him, finally Hux had understood Ben’s hesitation; the worst of it had been saved for here rather than displayed on his arms, some of the scars reminiscent of the strange, roughened skin left behind when burns healed, and though Hux had promised not to look, that was all he’d promised not to do. So there’d been no reason he couldn’t close his eyes and sink to his knees beside the bed, couldn’t put his face down into the fold of Ben’s thigh, where he’d felt a particularly fresh injury, perhaps a day or two old, and blow warm air across it until Ben was a shivering mess, the nerves of his leg jumping with every intake of Hux’ breath. No reason he couldn’t pepper kisses first over that one and then let his lips find every other he could reach, hands splayed on the insides of Ben’s knees, keeping them open - firmly, but with enough give that Ben could still have closed them, had he wanted to.

He hadn’t, even when he’d gasped and turned his head from side to side, hair rustling against the pillow, as Hux’ searching lips snagged on a scab still in the early stages of healing.

Each kiss had been an assurance pressed into his skin that there was no scar Ben could have shown him that was capable of changing how much Hux wanted him - and, in the morning, when Ben had scrambled out of bed, overtop a Hux who was only half as asleep as he pretended to be, he’d done so in just his boxers. He’d only put his sweatpants back on later, when the air in the apartment proved too cold for anything else, had barely even flinched when, before that, Hux came up behind him while he was making tea to trail a hand down the outside of his thigh. If that was a sign of things to come, Hux thought, it was a good one.

He might not have taken Ben’s boxers off that night - hadn’t yet at all - but that was alright. At least to him. Ben, still, was more impatient, more insistent that they move things along, but Hux delighted in the touches he only let stray far enough to tease, even if his own cock took issue with them. As predicted, he was learning to appreciate cold showers with a renewed vigor - because being tempted by Ben meant Ben was close enough _to_ tempt him, Hux waking with Ben glued to his side, sweat sticking their skin together. His mouth fell open when he slept deeply, Hux noted, and really, he shouldn’t have been as endeared to that as he was. Certainly shouldn’t have found it _desirable_ , but you could try telling that to his dick, which was quick to spring to life whenever Ben did that lip-smacking thing that meant he was close to waking up. (And perhaps that was a _common_ thing people did, but it had been a long time since he’d stuck around long enough to find out what his lovers did or didn’t look like waking up.)

Hux couldn’t think of a single thing about Ben that he _didn’t_ desire, not that he was complaining. Really, it was the most pleasurable problem he’d ever faced. He expected eventually his libido would get ahold of itself and he’d stop acting like an overeager adolescent - but he didn’t have evidence to prove that hypothesis yet, as he’d had to give his cock a stern talking to about their intentions when he’d bundled a warm and pliant Ben out of bed early (for the two of them) this Sunday morning and instructed him to dress warmly for an outing that was, for all intents and purposes, a date.  

Hux hadn’t been on a date in _years._ Thirty-three year old men didn’t go on dates, despite Phasma’s attempts to convince him otherwise - but as he’d researched the small tea shop he would take Ben to that afternoon to get them out of the car for a while, he’d known that was exactly what he was planning.

When the traffic fell away entirely, revealing a stretch of road lined on both sides by bare-branched trees against a clear and cloudless winter sky, the frost that had clung to them earlier in the day all but melted away only to settle there again as soon as the sun set, a familiar sense of _possibility_ opened up in Hux’ chest - made somehow greater by the sense of _Ben_ next to him, the spicy aroma of his own aftershave more enticing on Ben than it ever had been on him. Anything was possible out here, the salted pavement broken up only by the occasional slow-moving car that Hux found it easy enough to navigate around, and his foot twitched on the accelerator, itching for speed. Thannison didn’t tease him about being a regular Mario Andretti for nothing; he couldn’t let the name go unwarranted, and he tested his breaks, pumping them once and grinning to himself when there was no slide of his tires.

Good, the pavement was clear, then - no trace of ice.

“So,” Hux gave Ben’s knee another shake, then withdrew his hand from Ben’s hold, a wicked smile on his face as he looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “What do you say we let her loose? Show you what she’s _really_ capable of?” He didn’t give Ben a chance to answer, the speed limit sign they’d just passed nothing more than a suggestion as Hux griped the shifter and slid seamlessly into the next gear. When the tires of the Mustang let out a pleased squeal, the steering wheel maneuvering easily in his grip, Hux breathed deep, let the air burn his lungs. It was no use holding her back; this car had been _made_ for this, and so had he.

Ben was beginning to think he might have made a mistake when - out of that entire fleet of cars - he went and picked the Mustang instead of something a little less… _aggressive_. But Mustangs were not only one of the few makes Ben actually knew anything about, they just so happened to be his very favourite ones. There was just something about them he liked, and Hux’ car was absolutely beautiful. Hux himself had been as giddy as a little school boy all morning, going on and on about his precious cars, and all of their specifics, and how he couldn’t wait to take Ben for a drive in all of them - how he couldn’t wait to let Ben _drive_ them - and in hindsight Ben should probably have recognized the warning signs. Because when Ben had shyly indicated that he’d like to try the Mustang, Hux had grinned like a fucking _shark_ , promising that Ben was going to ‘absolutely love her.’ Han had had the same look on his face all those years ago when Leia finally deemed Ben old enough to go with him for a ride in his ‘69 Dodge Charger - his love for which rivaled his love for Leia - and Ben couldn’t remember a time he’d been more scared. But Hux had looked so happy, so eager, and well… Hux was Hux. The epitome of control and responsibility - in most aspects of life, at least. Ben might not be the one to trust other people’s driving skills the first time he rode with them, but he trusted Hux. And this was the man who folded his underwear before putting them in the laundry, for fuck’s sake - surely he wouldn’t do anything that would put his precious car at risk of scratches? He was a responsible, mature adult. How bad could it be?

The answer was apparently ‘ _very bad_.’

Because just as Ben was about to ask what exactly he meant by ‘let her loose,’ the g-force pressed him into the seat like some giant vice, not allowing him to move more than maybe a finger or two. Apparently, Hux liked going fast. _Really fast._ There was probably a very nice view outside the windows, but Ben really wouldn’t know - because it was all a blur, and then Ben had to focus on keeping his stomach from climbing up his throat. What was with guys and trying to drive fast enough to break the fucking sound barrier? There must obviously have been some sort of memo he’d missed growing up, because this was not funny at all to him. It was just too fast. Everything was blurry, and his stomach lurched uncomfortably with every sharp turn in the road, and then he was hit with a barrage of memories, fractured thoughts, feelings. _Oh_. He’d almost forgotten about that time, but apparently his brain and body had not.

Flashes went through his mind: autumn, a wet road, the roaring of the Charger’s engine, screeching tyres, Han cursing, and suddenly they’d been streaking across the road, narrowly missing oncoming traffic, before coming to a very sharp stop in a ditch. Ben’s neck hurt at the memory of the way the seat-belt had cut the momentum short, causing his neck to do some really scary sort of snap. He hadn’t been hurt - only a few bruises from the belt, and some pain in his back and neck that eventually went away - but he could remember how scared he was. And what was worse, he remembered how scared _Han_ had been, how not in control he’d been - Han, who was the best driver Ben knew in the entire world - and how that had just made everything so much scarier. He hadn’t been allowed to go in the Charger again for years - hadn’t wanted to, either. When Han finally gave up on it and sold it off, Ben had been relieved.

He could feel his heart racing, the panic building up as his brain failed to tell the difference between then and now, and cold sweat began prickling his brows. It was becoming harder to breathe, it felt like the air just wouldn’t go down, he breaths got shorter, quicker, and he started feeling really dizzy.

“Hux!” he wheezed. “Pull the fuck over! Right now!”

The rush of his blood was so loud in his ears he couldn’t make out if he’d sounded panicked or angry, but whichever it was did the trick. Hux gave him one quick glance, and then the Mustang slowed down, sliding smoothly off the road and into one of those little parking spots that were always found on both sides of it. Ben was out of the car before Hux had even managed to turn the engine off; he needed air right away, or he’d pass out. Adrenaline was making him all shaky and restless, and he wrapped his arms around himself, gripping his jacket tightly as he paced back and forth, trying to shake the panic and images off. He heard the door on the driver’s side open and close, and Hux’ worried face appeared at the corner of his vision.

“Ben, love, what’s the matter? Are you alright?” he asked, and Ben would have had better luck trying to stop an avalanche than his own snappy side at that moment.

“No, I’m not alright!” he hissed, running a shaking hand through his hair. “Don’t ever do that again! Don’t-! Just, just fucking don’t! I don’t care how good a driver you think you are, we could have-! It’s December! What if we hit an icy patch, huh? If-if someone else did, and crashed into us? Jesus Christ, Hux! I thought _I_ was the suicidal one here!”

Still across the pavement from Ben, Hux stopped short, taken aback at the ferocity of Ben’s words. He’d never heard Ben sound so angry with him - even when he’d deserved it - and when Hux opened his mouth to defend himself, no sound came out. He didn’t understand - he was an excellent driver. Sports cars had been a hobby of his since he had been old enough to drive them; even as a teenager, he’d been allowed use of his father’s cars (though the man hadn’t had half the selection Hux did now), and he’d received his first pair of driving gloves as a gift while still in high school, before he’d been enrolled in his first driving lessons.

He’d been 15 then - now he was 33. Ben had nothing to worry about; Hux would have done nothing that would put him danger. Certainly Ben had to know _that._

“Ben,” Hux started, taking a step closer to him. In the background, the engine of the Mustang still hummed pleasantly while tufts of white clouded up from the tailpipe, the smell of burning oil a familiar one. He hadn’t bothered to take the key from the ignition before clamoring out of the seat, though he’d at least had enough presence of mind to set the emergency brake. “You have to know I would never do anything to endanger either one of us. I _do_ have some sense of self-preservation, you know - and leaving that aside, I’d sell each one of these cars six times over before seeing you hurt.” He ventured near enough that he could lay a hand on Ben’s elbow, stopping his pacing, though he was still vibrating with the need to _move._ “I’m - I know what I’m doing, I promise. I.. at the risk of sounding full of myself…” Hux shook his head, biting his tongue on what he was going to say next. That was a risk he took far too often, and he could hardly afford it now.  

“I enjoy driving fast - probably _too_ fast, you’re right about that. But I _am_ rather good at it. I’ve been doing this for 17 years, and I haven’t crashed yet.” His eyes softened as he looked at Ben. The warmth from the sun was pleasant on his shoulders, heating the fabric of his shirt, and even though he’d abandoned his coat on the seat of the car, only a few goosebumps prickled on his bare arms where he’d rolled his sleeves up. Ben, however, looked chilled now, hugging himself fiercely, long fingers digging into the sleeves of his jacket. The sight made Hux feel both very, very guilty, and very, very stupid. “Still, that doesn’t excuse my scaring you. I shouldn’t have done that without asking. Or at least warning you. I just thought it would be nice… I just wanted…” Hux let out a whoosh of breath that froze in the air and adjusted his hold so Ben’s elbow was cradled in his palm.  

“I suppose I just wanted to impress you. I mean, that’s rather the typical thing, isn’t it?” He gave a self-deprecating half-smile, hoping it would be enough that Ben would take pity on him. “You take your date out on a drive in the finest car you own and drop her into gear and before you know it, they’re so flustered and won over that you’re pulling off the road to go at it like teenagers in the backseat?” Having said it out loud, it all sounded rather pathetic, and Hux winced expressively, giving a little shrug. “I must admit, this isn’t exactly what I’d had in mind.” They were pulled over alright, but that was the only part he’d gotten right. Ben was giving him the cold shoulder, and rightly so - this had been Hux’ first chance _not_ to fuck something up in their relationship, and look what he’d done with it.

“Would it -” and Hux shuddered when a gust of wind cut through that reminded him that they were, in fact, standing on the side of the road in mid-December. Even if it _was_ unseasonably warm this afternoon, they couldn’t stay out here forever. If Ben would ever set foot inside a car with him again, that was. “Would it help if I said I was sorry for once again managing to be a great bloody idiot where you’re concerned?”

Ben tried to keep glaring at him, he really did. But Hux just looked so damn embarrassed that it made Ben embarrassed for yelling at him. And… had Hux just said he’d wanted to _impress_ him? Like Ben’s opinion on his driving skills was important to him? Like he wanted Ben’s approval? Had he just admitted he’d been hoping to seduce Ben into making out in the backseat, riding the adrenaline high that came both from the speed and from the risk of being seen by passersby? Because Ben wouldn’t have minded that. Not at all. Sure, getting into the backseat would have been a bit of a challenge, and he had no idea how they’d both fit-... and he really should keep his focus on the present situation. Because Hux’ driving had still freaked him out, and he was decidedly _not_ okay with that. Speed might be a thing for other people, but after that incident with Han, it wasn’t for Ben. If there was ever a good time to make that clear, it was now.

Worming his way into Hux’ arms and hiding his head in his favourite spot - a little worried about how cold Hux felt against him - he took a moment to inhale the scent of Hux’ skin, calming himself, smiling when he felt Hux pull him close and hold him tight.

“I don’t like going too fast,” he said. “I, uhm… when I was a kid, my, uhm, my dad took me for a drive, and… we crashed. He was - _is_ \- a really good driver, but it didn’t matter shit that day. Okay? Ever since, I… I just don’t like it. It scares me. I remember what happened, and I panic, and I just… If- if you wanna go for a drive with me, please don’t go this fast again. _Please_? I’m not scared of cars, or driving, I just… not this fast. I, uhm, I like road trips and stuff, and I like looking at stuff we pass by. I just can’t do the speed thing. Okay?”

“Alright, darling,” Hux promised, laying his chin on top of Ben’s head. “No more _24 Hours of Nurburgring_ impersonations, you have my word.”  

Ben nodded, and they were quiet for a while. Then his brain replayed Hux’ earlier words, and he couldn’t stop himself from giggling.

“You wanted to seduce me,” he teased, grinning when he saw the blush creep up along Hux’ neck and disappear under his beard. “You do know that kissing me usually works just fine, right?”

Embarrassed, Hux buried his face in Ben’s hair, fighting down the flush he could feel heating his skin, his cheeks burning in contrast to the chill air.

“Well, you can’t blame a man for trying, can you?” Affection made his voice full, a bubble of perplexed laughter rising in his throat. How was it that Ben could do this to him? Could so easily _unbuild_ what he had taken so long to put together - the defenses whose foundation had been laid when he was not yet old enough to drive the cars he now collected? It was something Hux hadn’t figured out yet and that he suspected would remain a mystery for the rest of his life as he hugged Ben to him, his fingers splayed across the supple leather of Ben’s jacket. “I’m usually so much _better_ at this,” he said wistfully, speaking into Ben’s hair, letting it tickle his nose. “Not that I’ve given you any reason to believe it, but I was known to be quite irresistible in my day.” Back before Ben had turned him into a stammering mess who was more like to give the boy he loved a heart attack than he was to win him over.

What had been a slight chill was quickly becoming uncomfortable the longer they stood outside the car, and the heat inside the Mustang beckoned as he rubbed his gloved hands over Ben’s back, savoring the friction. “I don’t suppose I still have a chance at this whole _‘seducing you’_ thing, do I? I mean, now that I’ve given away my intentions?” When Hux’ head moved up and down with the momentum of Ben’s nod, he could do nothing but grin, again into Ben’s hair, and after another quick squeeze, he let Ben go to open the passenger side door, which Ben had slammed behind him in his panic.  

“Your chariot awaits,” he said with a little bow, accompanied by a smile that he hoped was appropriately roguish as he ushered Ben back into the heated interior. Not his best line, a little on the corny side - but Ben didn’t seem to mind it, settling into the seat obligingly. Once he had, Hux reached across his lap to latch the buckle of his seatbelt before Ben could do it for himself, allowing his hand to just graze the inside of Ben’s thigh as he did so, lingering only long enough that he could be sure Ben had taken note of it. The touch there and then gone, so quick it might been an accident. Hux hadn’t used a move that cliche since high school - he hadn’t _had_ to, the money usually did all the hard work for him - but after all these years, the thrill it gave him was the same, a spark of desire stirring deep in his belly at touching someone in so intimate a place in so innocent a manner.

...especially if that person was Ben, who sucked in a shaky breath at the brief contact, stiffening, his fingers again clutching at the seat, but for an entirely different - and, Hux hoped, more pleasant - reason this time.

Hux let out a gruff chuckle that froze immediately, his hand now trailing down Ben’s chest under the guise of checking that the seatbelt wasn’t too tight. He knew it wasn’t, of course - but, well, once could never be too careful, and he fit his palm underneath of the strap where it rested over Ben’s collarbone, testing. Stretching it - as well as the boundaries of his restraint - before letting it snap back into place, the sound loud in the silence of the roadside. Once Ben’s breathing had started to speed up, and Hux could see no trace of the fear that had colored his features when he’d sprung from the car, he withdrew, standing up from where he had leaned down inside of the door and brushing his palms off on the legs of his pants smartly, apparently disaffected.

“There we go,” he quipped, just a little wolfishly, as he leaned against the door, propped up against the window, his hands shoved into his pockets. “See? No funny business, scout’s honor.” Not that he had ever been a scout; the ROTC had been as far as it had went for him. Still, he knew the words were as much a threat as a promise. At least as long as Ben found the idea of some _‘funny business’_ as enticing as he did - and judging from the working of his throat, he very much did.

The ride after that was quiet, the Mustang hugging tight to the inside of the curves in the road under Hux’ practiced hand, tires traveling smoothly over pavement that remained well-cleared, though shiny with melted slush in spots, while Sinatra’s deep vocals drifted out from the speakers. Pleased with the selection, Hux turned it up - while Ben hadn’t come to him a fan of big band music, he’d taken to it quickly, his foot tapping against the floorboards, and Hux hummed along with the radio as he drove. He was well within the speed limit this time, one hand on the wheel, the other skirting up Ben’s thigh, past where he had touched him earlier, lingering on new denim and, just once, touching the cool metal of the zipper of Ben’s jeans, before returning to the safety of inside of Ben’s knee, Hux’ heart hammering as hard as if he’d been driving at 100 miles per hour, the exhilaration just as sweet.

This was better, he decided, when Ben squirmed in his seat, swallowing hard, as Sinatra waxed poetic about the _“same old dream,”_ and Hux almost threw his head back and laughed. What did old Frank know of dreams anyway? He’d never known Ben, never known he was the one who was able to take him apart with just the promise of a touch, and if Hux never again took a curve with enough speed behind him that it was only his belief in his own skill that convinced him he’d make it with both the car and himself intact, he’d never need to. He had _this,_ the kind of headrush you couldn’t pay for _._

When Hux spotted a road just off the main highway whose entrance was secluded by a cluster of trees on either side, he slowed the Mustang to a crawl and pulled in - just off the pavement and onto the grass - Ben looking at him questioningly.  

“Hux...?” he asked, squinting in the sunlight that dappled through the few leaves left on the trees, as Hux engaged the emergency brake, then took the key from the ignition to deposit it in the pocket of his slacks. This was ridiculous, _insane,_ and yet when Hux leaned across the console, undoing Ben’s seatbelt for him, the shifter digging uncomfortably into his side, _this time_ there could be no mistaking his intentions.

Ben had actually thought for a moment there, that they wouldn’t really do this - that Hux’ teasing had been just that: teasing, a little revenge for Ben poking fun at him. But with Hux’ hands going in some very interesting places, at the same time as he pulled Ben into a kiss that would have had him weak enough in the knees to lose the ability to stand if he hadn’t already been sitting down, he realized that _oh yes_ , this was happening. He was actually making out with Hux, in a super expensive car. _Right by the side of the road_. The spark of arousal rushing through him, the thrill of it, had him groaning into the kiss as he let his own hands wander wherever they wanted. Hux obviously enjoyed it, and for a while they were caught in a frenzy of messy kissing, hands gripping, pulling, caressing, teasing, no words exchanged - only whimpers, groans, and the occasional hiss.

He had never been this blatantly desired before, and Ben was reeling from the effect it had on him as Hux’ hands found their way under his shirt, under his waistband - his beard scratching against his neck, followed by his teeth, by the smooth warmth of his tongue. Hux let one hand run down over his hip, onto the inside of his thigh, fingers digging into it, before letting it settle right over Ben’s dick - causing Ben to gasp and whimper, and the low growl that escaped Hux at his reaction was the single sexiest thing Ben had ever heard. Sexy enough that he damn near came on the spot as Hux gently moved his hand, rubbing over his arousal, applying just enough pressure to stimulate but not enough to take it further. He seemed too damn pleased with himself, Ben thought, as he felt Hux smile against his neck, before continuing to torture him.

This wouldn’t do. Two could play this game, and Hux wasn’t the only one with a few tricks up his sleeve. Ben let his hands sneak their way to Hux’ waistband, pulling his shirt up so they could sneak under it, his nails dragging lightly over his chest. Hux’ breath hitched, and he stopped for a second before collecting himself enough to continue. Encouraged, Ben let one hand keep up the gentle teasing there, while the other moved downwards to mimic what Hux’ own was doing to Ben. Hux was every bit as hard as he was, and when Ben applied a little more pressure, he completely lost track of what he was doing, biting back what Ben guessed would have been a very lovely sound, by digging his teeth into Ben’s shoulder with a muffled groan. Ben smiled, and just as he felt Hux’ hips start to move along with his motions, Ben pulled away. The noise Hux made was absolutely beautiful.

Kissing his red hair, Ben ran a finger along his jawline, nudging his face upward so they could look each other in the eyes. Hux’ eyes had darkened to a deep mossy green, pupils blown wide from the desire running through them both. He looked absolutely dumbstruck when Ben gave the widest, most mischievous grin he could, then gave Hux a chaste peck on the lips and pulled back.

“What?” he asked innocently. “You did say you wanted to be a gentleman about this. I’m just trying to help you out.”

_“Wha-?”_ Hux looked up dazedly, his body failing to immediately register the loss of contact over his groin as his hips continued to seek out the stimulation, moving restlessly, entirely without his permission. The area where Ben’s hand had just been palming him through the fabric of his pants now felt cold, bereft, his dick abandoned without so much as a second thought, and Hux bit down on the whine that threatened to escape him. He would not chase Ben’s lips in a desperate bid for just another nip from Ben’s chipped front tooth; he would _not._ Not while he still had any pride left at all, goddammit! “You - you… are you bloody _insane,_ Ben?” he groused, eyes fluttering closed as Ben’s finger traced down the underside of his chin, where the flesh was so delicate his beard refused to grow. “You could kill a man this way!” His voice was strained, his composure as rumpled as the collar of his shirt, as he ran a trembling hand through his hair, his pulse leaping in his throat.

Ben didn’t look sorry in the slightest; in fact, he looked quite pleased with himself, smirking with swollen lips, a bruise that fit the line of Hux’ teeth rising on his collarbone, marking him. Damning him. His shirt would cover it once it was buttoned again, but Ben would feel it there all the same. He was, Hux thought, as Ben ducked his head, the cat that got the canary, debauched and far too wicked for his own good, even through the flush that started at his prominent ears.

Hux wanted Ben in ways he hadn’t thought it was possible to want a person, every strip of his skin left exposed a merciless taunt, and when he looked up at Hux through hair that fell into his eyes and sucked his bottom lip in between his teeth, the blood pulsed so hard in Hux’ dick that he could have come from a touch alone. Instead, he let out a strangled laugh, forcing himself to focus on the way the shifter cut into the corner of his ass, on how quickly the Mustang was losing heat now that it was no longer running, the activities he and Ben had shared fogging up the windows. Anything to distract from the heavy ache between his legs begging for Ben’s attention.

Pride - what was that? And when had he last seen any evidence of his? Hux was undone, ready to spill in his pants like the 13-year-old boy he’d once been, learning his sexuality from glimpses of boys in his high school locker room and tugging at his dick without finesse every moment his father was at the office and he could lock himself away in his room. By all rights Ben should have seen his distress and taken pity on him, but with his long limbs folded into the seat of Hux’ Mustang, he was ruthless. Barbaric, even, doing nothing to disguise his own arousal, even as embarrassment just tinged his cheeks, making him look somehow younger than his 25 years, barely legal - which made it all the worse.

“What the hell happened to the sweet, innocent thing I brought home?” Hux muttered, shaking his head in amazement and consternation, not yet willing to dislodge his chin from Ben’s hold. He relished the pull of his beard on Ben’s palm too much for that, grateful when Ben’s hand followed the motion of his head.

Ben bit his lip again, but he didn’t relinquish that damned smirk. “I think we lost him somewhere around that third turn you took. Seems he couldn’t handle the speed,” he said - and apparently Hux had, because when he went in for another kiss, Ben turned his head so that Hux caught only his cheek, lips landing on skin that had been shaved baby smooth. He cursed internally, stomach sinking in disappointment - while he’d never turn down a kiss from Ben, that hadn’t been anything like the kind of kiss he’d been hungering for. But if Ben was out to ensure that Hux never tried to impress him by driving like an idiot again, well, he’d done his job - because Hux, a pout on his lips, had learned his lesson.

\---

Once they’d both regained their composure - Hux still a bit perplexed by the turn of events, and Ben still grinning like a cat that just caught the fattest mouse in history - they went back on the road, and Hux made very sure to stay within speed limits while Ben enjoyed the view from his window. As much as they could both have spent the entire day like this, they did have a mission, and Ben was looking forward to it - his obvious giddiness only increasing with each passing minute.

While Ben wasn’t overly fond of Christmas - or, at least hadn’t been until now - he had always had a great love for a properly decorated house. To wake up in the morning, while it was still dark outside, enjoying the soft coloured lights and sparkling decorations. There was just something about it that made him feel a deep sense of contentment he usually struggled to find. The process of getting all the stuff set up _just right_ was in itself one of his favourite things - it was like magic, and he never ceased to be amazed at how it could completely transform a house in just a day. But the tree was the most important bit. Ben could spend Christmas in a reed hut, as long as there was a tree. And Hux had promised him that he’d get to pick out the best one at the lot, and that they would get as many decorations as Ben wanted. Though he was pretty sure Hux had no idea what he had agreed to, he no less loved him for it. They had already decided where to put it, and Ben had _a lot_ of space to work with; Hux’ - no, _their_ \- living room was so huge that any sort of regular sized tree would just look ridiculous, and given Hux’ more spartan approach to interior decoration, they could get away with far more decorations than Ben had ever been allowed to play around with before.

The process of picking the right tree went unexpectedly smoothly; Ben saw it the second they entered the lot, and after a quick inspection, he deemed it suitable - leaving Hux to take care of the whole process of getting it back to the apartment. It would have to be delivered - it was way too big to go with them, and besides, it would probably only have scratched the paint on Hux’ car. It wasn’t until Hux asked how Ben wanted to go about acquiring everything else that it seemed to sink in that they were _not_ just ordering them from somewhere. As far as Ben was concerned, there was a right way and a wrong way to do this, and Hux found himself completely without any say in the matter as they pulled into the parking lot of Restoration Hardware. Within the first few minutes, Hux found himself on cart-pushing duty - apparently Ben didn’t trust him with more than that - while Ben himself very swiftly and methodically scanned the place for everything he needed. Ben knew that his vision for the apartment in general, and the Christmas tree in particular, would probably not be the stuff one would feature in any sort of magazine - but he didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, colour and sparkles were all that mattered. Sure, he had decided on a primary colour for every room, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try to get as many other colours in there as he could. It wasn’t supposed to look like a design magazine, it was supposed to look like a home, and Hux would just have to trust him on this, because Ben loved colour. It helped his mood, and made him feel both more inspired and more at home, and Hux could hardly argue against that, now could he?

Ben wasn’t sure where this cocky side of his had come from, but it seemed that Hux genuinely enjoyed it when he showed a bit of attitude, and Ben thought it might be okay for him to test the boundaries a bit. After all, he’d confessed to occasionally being suicidal, and the man was still here. That had to count for something, right?

There were a lot of people in the store, and the only thing that kept Ben grounded, kept him secure and calm, was the surprisingly powerful combination of Hux smiling at him and giving him a peck on the cheek whenever he returned to the cart with a new item, and the way Hux was handling the situation. Or, rather, _not_ handling. He seemed to alternate between a state of terrified fascination and being incredibly affronted by the presence of other people - delivering a death glare that Ben was pretty sure could probably light someone on fire any time someone gave them weird looks.

One lady, somewhere in her sixties perhaps, had given them a stink eye of epic proportions when Hux had stolen a quick kiss, and as soon as Hux noticed, he had glared brutal murder right back - pulling Ben close with an arm around his waist, keeping it there for a good five minutes after the lady had fled the aisle they were currently strolling down. There was a possessive streak here, Ben noted, and he found himself liking it. Usually he hated those kinds of stupid ‘alpha male’ behaviours, but the gesture, paired with Hux’ continuous muttering of ‘the nerve of some people,’ and ‘how dare they look at you like that - have they seen themselves?’ and the occasional ‘oh, go ahead and stare - you are just jealous you’re not going home with him,’ made it more endearing than annoying. Still, Hux had kept muttering for the entirety of their time there, and Ben had to pinch himself to keep from having a giggling fit right then and there. Hux really needed to get out more, and Ben vowed to make sure to expose him to other, _ordinary_ people more often. Or, well, as often as he himself could handle. It wasn’t exactly as if Ben was much of a people person either.

The decorations took up the entire trunk of the car, as well as the back seat, and getting everything up to the penthouse was a bit of an adventure - if either of them had had shorter arms, it would have been impossible for them to get all the bags in one go, and even now it was more than a little tight on space in the elevator - but somehow, they managed. Not five minutes after they’d deposited the bags on the dining table - now free of painting supplies, as Ben had finally finished the mural just the previous day - the tree arrived. Ben looked on in deep satisfaction as the delivery people got it in place, and made sure it was properly secured and stable in its stand, and Hux had - if possible - looked even more bewildered when he was sent to find a good chair or something to stand on while they got the lights in place. They were both tall, but definitely not tall enough for this giant tree.

Eventually, Hux did seem to get his bearings right, and while the whole project didn’t exactly go smoothly - they spent at least half the time getting tangled up in cords and tinsel, laughing and kissing - Ben was so happy he thought he might just explode. Somewhere mid-process of getting all the little glass baubles in place - Hux up on the chair, while Ben pointed to where he wanted each one to go - Hux had asked him how he felt about finding a new psychiatrist. It had been over two months since he’d made a promise to call one, and Hux would gladly help make sure he got a better one than he’d had before. He just wanted to help Ben help himself, and if Ben needed him to, he’d go with him to every single appointment - it wasn’t a problem, and he’d consider it an honour to be allowed to accompany him, even if he’d have to spend two hours every week in a waiting room. Whatever Ben needed, Hux reminded him, he would get. And he did need a refill of his prescriptions, so he could go back on his medications again - at least the Lithium. He just wanted to put that out there, to give Ben some time to think about it, but there was no pressure or expectation attached.

Ben had been so overwhelmed by the love and acceptance in Hux’ voice that he’d had to sit down for a moment, blinking back tears, causing Hux to hurry down from the chair to comfort him - worried that he’d said something wrong. After some comforting and cuddling, Ben admitted that he knew he really needed to see someone, but that it had just been too much for him to handle to try and reach out on his own. If Hux would help him, he’d go - he just couldn’t muster the strength to make the call himself. But he wanted to wait until after Christmas, because starting therapy always took so much out of him that he’d be too tired to function for days after his appointments, and he really wanted to enjoy Christmas in peace.

Eventually, they did get the entire penthouse decorated, and even Hux had to admit it felt much more like a proper home. What mattered most to him, though, wasn’t so much the decorations themselves, as seeing how happy they made Ben. The tree might not have been perfect; the star refused to sit straight, and they had to hide the cords to the lights under a rug to avoid tripping on them - but it was _their_ tree, and it was something they’d done together, something that had made them both happy. There was tinsel and glitter everywhere, sticking to their clothes and skin whenever they touched anything, but even Hux couldn’t bring himself to care, because the way the glitter only served to enhance the paleness of Ben’s skin and the dark of his hair made it all worth it. And Ben seemed to enjoy getting as much glitter as he could into Hux’ beard, knowing it would be a nightmare to get out, and that he’d have to go to work with a beard that sparkled when the light hit it. Hux wasn’t nearly as offended by this as he pretended to be.

\---

The last week before Christmas had, as always, been the stuff of nightmares for Hux and his entire staff. It never failed; before any major holiday, things would inevitably start going crazy in ever new directions, and Ben felt genuinely sorry for him. Every night when Hux came home, he’d pull Ben over to the couch, cuddling or kissing him absolutely senseless for a good half hour - as if that was the one thing that would help him remain sane. Not that Ben was complaining; he was as addicted to Hux’ kisses as Hux was to his, and with every passing day of Hux making it clear how deeply he desired him, it got a little bit easier for Ben to make peace with his own body.

He’d had a few bad days, with very strong impulses to do bad things, but Hux had stayed with him through it - offering to come home immediately and hold him through it if that was what he needed, and promising to hurry home anyway when Ben assured him that just hearing his voice helped immensely - and Ben was beginning to feel like he might actually pull through this time. Make an actual recovery, have some sort of functioning life. It was the best gift Hux could ever have given him.

But there was actually one great benefit to Hux’ insane workload; it made sure he was too tired to be curious about what Ben was doing in his new little art studio. One of Hux’ largest guest rooms had been stripped of all furniture, and turned into something pretty damn close to Ben’s dream studio - and for the moment, Hux was banned from setting foot in it. He couldn’t take the risk of Hux accidentally seeing the project Ben was working on - it would ruin the surprise, and Ben refused to let that happen. While it was a far cry from anything as expensive or fine as Hux could give him, it was still something that Ben hoped he’d like - after all, Ben had made it with his own hands, had poured his entire heart and soul into it.

He’d been incredibly relieved, also, when Hux hadn’t minded his aversion to the whole ‘traditional Christmas dinner’ thing - a dinner which would have been silly, anyway, given that it was just the two of them for the holiday - and when he’d offered to cook something nice but non-traditional for them, Hux had been thrilled. It was obvious that he didn’t eat home cooked food a lot, and Ben had made sure to put together a little menu that would - hopefully - appeal to his partner’s taste. His one demand had been that Hux helped out, and that he’d tell Ben if he honestly didn’t like it. Ben liked to cook, but he didn’t like it when people only pretended to like what he made. Hux had sworn, and Ben had handed him the list of ingredients he’d need, so Hux could find himself a suitable wine. Ben himself would stick to soda, because although he was currently off his meds - again - he had a complicated relationship to wine, and usually preferred soda anyway.

\---

For Hux, the weeks leading up to Christmas had passed in a blur of glitter and brightly colored lights - interspersed with increasingly agitated emails from Jessika, demanding meetings he had no time to attend and accompanied by attachments he had no desire to look at. Eventually, he knew, he wouldn’t be able to hold her off any longer, but for now, he passed the communications off onto Mitaka, who grew more frazzled-looking by the day, his usually impeccable short-cropped hair becoming so unkempt that Hux was sorely tempted to say something about it. Hux supposed he should have felt guilty for what he was putting the poor man through - he knew how relentless Jessika could be better than anyone - but his own plate was so full he hardly found the time. Imperial had dozens of other accounts, all begging for his attention during this crucial time of the year; he could ill-afford a misstep now, not when acquiring Jessika’s account was looking less like a certainty. If they couldn’t pull together something that would impress her soon, they’d lose their chance at the account completely.  

It didn’t help that he still hadn’t found the right fit to round out Imperial’s design team. Nor that he was hardly on speaking terms with own COO, who was knee-deep in her own projects, all of which she had to see completed before she headed back to Chicago to spend the weeks surrounding the holidays with her sister, as she had every year since Hux had known her. Yes, his firm’s reputation preceded him, but that didn’t mean he could become lackadaisical in his handling of affairs; that was a sure road to ruin, and while he’d never relished the thought of failure, he was watching out for someone more than himself now.

While Ben had requested they put off working with a therapist until after the holidays, Hux had begun his search for one who came well-recommended even before Ben had agreed to it. He hadn’t met with any of them yet, but he had a stack of referrals on the desk in his home office; each day, more were added to the pile while others were discarded after investigation proved them a poor fit. And there was still the matter of a gift for Ben - Ben who reminded him three times a day at least that Hux had already supplied him with more gifts than he’d ever received in the rest of his life combined. The decorations, the tree itself, his clothing, all of it had come from Hux, he’d argued - not to mention the array of art supplies that Hux now found constantly strewn about his home, paint brushes in the drying rack by the sink and half finished charcoal drawings cluttering his coffee table.  

That, he’d had to tell Ben, was _his_ gift to Hux: his imprints on his life. All the small ways he’d found to fit into places where Hux hadn’t before realized empty space existed at all. And anyway, now that the penthouse as well as everything that went with it was Ben’s just as much as Hux’, could it really be said that Hux had _given_ him any of it? They were partners; they _shared_ things. If whatever was Ben’s was Hux’ and whatever was Hux’ was Ben’s, Ben could hardly call a pair of pants a _gift._ Ben hadn’t been able to say much to that -  there was a reason Hux had once managed to successfully convince a smaller marketing firm to sell out to him for half of what it was worth - and so Hux had continued on his mission to choose a gift for Ben that would live up to the kind of esteem Hux held him in.

Ben wasn’t easy to buy for - or perhaps he was _too_ easy to buy for. He would have been pleased with anything Hux had gotten him, and that was precisely the problem. Hux had spent one night after work wandering through Bloomingdale’s, touching fine woolen jackets and running his fingers over slim, silver bracelets nondescript enough to be tasteful. He’d never seen Ben wear jewelry before, but he seemed to like fidgeting with things, his fingers constantly in motion, even in the rare moments when they weren’t occupied with either an ink pen or paintbrush - or more recently, the buttons of Hux’ shirts. Under the department store’s fluorescent lighting, it had been easy for Hux to imagine the way the slick metal would feel when Ben ran his fingers over it, how neatly the bracelet could be hidden inside the sleeve of Ben’s jacket if he didn’t wish it to be seen. And when the woman behind the counter had remarked on how lovely it would look sitting over the delicate bones of his wife’s wrist, he’d told her to box it up, requesting a ribbon in dark green because that would best suit his _partner’s_ pale skin. He’d done it partly out of spite, to see the way her eyes widened at the emphasis he put on the word _‘partner,’_ but partly because he knew she was right. Indeed, the bracelet would suit Ben perfectly.

Still, that hadn’t seemed enough, and it hadn’t been until later that night, Ben’s head resting on his shoulder as the two of them watched _It’s A Wonderful Life_ like neither of them had ever seen it before, that it came to him. The idea had taken hold so strongly that he’d almost lept from the sofa then and there to begin making the necessary calls, but he knew that, had he moved, Ben would have become suspicious, so he’d had to bide his time, mind churning as he’d watched George Bailey learn the beauty of his existence just the way he had every December for the past 70 years.

Hux knew just how he felt.

\---

In the end, Hux choose three gifts: the bracelet he’d seen wrapped up at Bloomingdale’s, an iPhone 7 that matched his own in everything except color (Ben’s model was black, chosen not only because Ben was partial to dark colors, but because the majority of his belongings ended up splattered with paint before long, no matter how carefully he tried to guard them), and the coup de grace, the gift that had come to him that night on the sofa. That one had been the hardest to hide. The painting was enormous; 48 inches across on either side and painted in oil by Ben’s grandfather, it was one of the last pieces he had seen completed before his death. It had taken a little wheedling to get Ben’s grandfather’s name out of him, but once he had, a few well-placed phone calls, and Hux had managed to track down a collector who owned a number of the man’s pieces. Apparently, there remained a circle of connoisseurs who not only appreciated Skywalker’s art, but who collected them ravenously. Who knew?

Hux had been tempted to relieve the collector of every piece he could find - money wasn’t an issue, and he knew he could offer far more than what any of the pieces would have brought at market value - but the idea that it might please Ben to know that his grandfather’s art lived on to enrich the lives of others had stopped him. The one piece was probably more than he’d ever expected to see of Anakin Skywalker again as it was, and Hux had had it reframed and stored in the back of a guest room closet where he knew Ben would never venture until Christmas morning came.

Hux woke that morning with a sense of pride at his gift choosing prowess. Ben had slept deeply the night before, drooling into Hux’ shoulder until well past 10am while Hux watched as snow drifted down from overcast skies outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of their bedroom. Usually, he would have shut the blinds by now, but it was so grey outside that the light remained just muted enough to doze by, and he reclined against his pillows, imagining with a sort of anticipation he’d never quite understood until now the way Ben’s face would light up when he unwrapped the painting. Certainly it would look nothing like Phasma’s when she’d opened a green sleeve of paper to reveal the Starbucks gift card he’d presented her with the first year of their friendship; she’d been supremely unimpressed, had looked at him like he’d done her some great affront, raising one eyebrow critically. After that, he’d taken to gift cards from some of the boutiques he knew she frequented, and last year, he’d ventured so far as to buy her a faux-fur stole that had made her genuinely smile. But this was the first time he’d ever put half so much thought into a gift. It only made sense that it was for Ben.

He presented Ben with the iPhone, the first of his gifts, as soon as Ben stirred, snuffling and shifting against Hux, long legs rustling beneath the sheets. Hux had stowed the box underneath his side of the bed, so it was easy enough to reach down and dig it out, thrusting it into Ben’s face before he’d had a chance to properly open his eyes. Ben blinked at the box confusedly, like he wasn’t quite sure what it was or what he was expected to do with it, until Hux bid him to open it, scrambling up onto his knees and nearly bouncing on the mattress in his excitement.  

After Ben had finished gaping at the phone like he _still_ didn’t know what it was he was holding, he and Ben stayed in bed, programming the thing with apps Hux knew Ben would use, as well as some Hux had no experience with but that Ben was adamant made phones more _“fun.”_ Hux would have to take his word for that; his own phone was used mostly for business and the occasional addition to the Instagram page he kept private from everyone save Phasma and Thannison - and now, Ben. Of course Hux’ number was the first added into his contacts, but they also added the direct line to Hux’ office at Imperial, as well as Phasma’s personal number, as they both knew they’d have to speak with her soon.  

Hux wouldn’t have minded whiling away the rest of Christmas morning with activities that were best performed in bed, but Ben had taken Hux by the hand and dragged the two of them into the kitchen shortly after, citing their need to begin preparations for their Christmas dinner, as nontraditional as it would be. Hux was still in his flannel pajama bottoms, bare feet cold on the tile of his kitchen floor, and he tip-toed across it as if it was made of hot coals, making little noises of complaint and heading straight for the teapot on the range-stop stove so he could begin heating water while Ben rummaged through cupboards that had always been empty until now. He seemed to know his way around instinctively, bending down to extract a roasting pan from the cupboard next to the oven and then reaching up above it for a mixing bowl, exposing a delicious-looking strip of skin when the white tee shirt he’d stolen from Hux pulled away from his own pajama bottoms.

Hux was clueless about the menu Ben had planned - he’d ordered the groceries in and Ben had been the one to put them away - and as Ben arranged ingredients in the order they would be used all along the granite countertops, Hux tried to guess what it was Ben had up his sleeve, though half of his mind remained occupied with the way Ben’s hips swayed in time to a song Ben heard only in his head as he moved about the kitchen. Later, they’d ask Beru to accompany their cooking - Hux never tired of her endless collection of Bing Crosby - but for now, the only sound was Ben’s intermittent humming and the tapping of his wooden spoon against the counter.

“Do you always dance while cooking?” Hux remarked, his voice teasing, a half-smile on his face as he leaned against the counter, waiting for the teapot to whistle. Ben turned from where he appeared to be combining the ingredients he’d gathered into the bowl he’d taken down from above the stovetop, his hands shiny with something. “Or do you save this kind of thing for special occasions?”

Ben blushed, biting his lip.

“Sometimes,” he admitted. “Not often, just when I’m… you know, happy.”

The teapot declared its contents ready to be poured into their mugs, and once Hux had prepared their tea, he came up behind Ben and wrapped his arms around his middle - resting his chin on Ben’s shoulder as he caressed his chest and belly. Ben paused for a moment to let himself be kissed on the cheek, before continuing what he was doing, reaching for the flour and a measuring cup.

“What is it you’ve got going on here?” Hux asked curiously as Ben began mixing the flour into the yeast and oil already in the bowl. “And for the love of God, don’t just say ‘baking,’ because I might not know my way around the kitchen the way you do, but I’m not so hopeless than I can’t recognize that much.” He punctuated the inquiry with another kiss to Ben’s temple.

“I’m making some Foccaccia to go with dinner,” Ben answered. “It needs to be left to rise twice before we can put it in the oven, so I figured we might as well get it done early. We still need to make the dessert too, ‘cause that’ll need to go in the fridge for a while.”

“You’re making _Foccaccia_?” Hux seemed incredulous. “Actual Foccaccia?  As in, the stuff I always order from _Amata?_ That Foccaccia? The one I eat so much of I can make myself sick? Ben, you had best not be telling me you’ve known how to bake Foccaccia all along and never thought to tell me? Me - your loving partner! That’s just cruel!” He gave a playful pinch to the exposed skin at Ben’s waist, causing him to yelp and startle a little. “Did you know I think I might just be the most spoiled man in this whole damn city? You may want to be careful, darling - I’m going to become greedy.”

“It’s just bread,” Ben smiled, blush returning to his cheeks. “But, uhm, since you apparently like it, I can make it more often. I mean, if you want me to. It’s pretty easy.”

“‘ _Just bread_ ,’ he says,” Hux snorted. “Go on, mock my lack of culinary competence. I suppose it’s _‘just dessert’_ too then. Nothing extravagant, I’m sure?”

“White chocolate pannacotta, with passionfruit topping. Was going for raspberries at first, but they’re usually not very tasty this time a year. The passion fruit should balance the sweetness pretty well, I hope.”

Hux hid his face in Ben’s neck, a low groan escaping him.

“You’re going to be the death of me, Ben Solo, seducing me with food like this - I was trying to watch my cholesterol before I met you, you know?”

“You’re going to help me make it, remember?” Ben teased. “Don’t think you’ll get out of that. And don’t worry, I made sure there’d be enough for a second helping or two if we want it.”

\---

While the bread dough was left to rise, they enjoyed a cozy breakfast on the couch - Ben, as always, curled up in Hux’ arms while he worked through a cup of yoghurt and some fresh pieces of fruit Hux had brought them. Initially, he’d been planning on making them some nice smoothies, but he promptly forgot that train of thought when Hux fed him a piece of honeydew melon, immediately followed by a kiss. They took their time eating, and then Ben showed Hux how to make both foccaccia and pannacotta. What Hux lacked in knowledge, he more than made up for in enthusiasm, and apparently, seeing Ben cook or bake was something he found immensely attractive, if the way he seemed unable to keep his hands to himself was anything to go by. Ben was flattered, embarrassed, excited, and a little confused all at once, but it was okay. Hux’ touch felt good, and it made him feel very loved.

Once the bread was out of the oven, cooling off in its pan, and the pannacotta safely inside the fridge, they once again relocated to the couch, cuddling up under several blankets and watching _Doctor Who_. Hux had, somehow, also completely missed out on the show, and this gave Ben the perfect excuse to rewatch the first few seasons - feeling very good about himself when he could explain all the confusing parts to Hux. He accidentally fell asleep with his head on Hux’ lap for a while, and was thrilled to realize upon waking again that not only was Hux still watching, he seemed rather invested in it, too.

Eventually, though, food started to sound like a marvelous idea, and Ben got started on their dinner. He’d done his best to put together a three course menu that would be festive enough, but not leave them conked out on the couch until the next day once they’d finished it. After all, Hux had told him there were still presents left to be opened. The first dish consisted of little croustades he’d filled with a rich and creamy mushroom stew, and he had to put Hux - who was on vegetable chopping duty - at the other end of the kitchen counter to keep him from eating all of it before it was time. The main course was a simple but tasty pasta dish his grandma had made sometimes - comfort food and ‘fancy dinner food’ all in one, she’d called it. There wasn’t much to it, really; some tagliatelle, green pesto, sun-dried tomatoes, olives, more mushrooms, fresh spinach, and as much parmesan cheese as he could get away with. It was as far as he could get from ‘proper’ Christmas food, and also a dish he knew he had mastered to a point where he felt confident in serving it to Hux without worrying about the taste. Hux was an eager learner, begging Ben to write the recipe down so Hux could be of more help in the future, instead of just hanging about the kitchen and mostly getting in the way. Ben promised, but not before joking about Hux needing to actually eat it first, to see if he ever wanted to go near it again.

He did. The dinner was a huge success - Hux looked like he was about two bites away from absolute ecstasy all the way through it, _especially_ the dessert part - and as soon as they’d finished, he pulled Ben into a hug, peppering his surprised face with kisses while praising him to high heavens. Apparently, Ben thought, food was one very effective method of seduction, and he stored that information away for a day when he felt a bit more confident about attempting it.

Once they’d recovered a bit, they went to get their respective presents - both of them eyeing the other’s suspiciously flat and angular items - and settled on the couch to get on with the one Christmas tradition they both actually enjoyed. Ben was a bundle of nerves, heart beating so hard he could feel it in his throat. He really hoped Hux would like the painting, but - as always - Ben’s disaster of a brain was already conjuring up about a million reasons for why it was a stupid idea. Oh well, nothing for it now - the painting was the only thing he had to give, so he just had to hope for the best. But just as he was going to ask if Hux wanted his gift first, Hux beat him to it.

“I - uh, I’ve gotten you a little something,” Hux blurted, a thin white box wrapped with green ribbon clutched tightly in his fingers. Legs folded underneath of him on the sofa, facing Ben, he passed the box from hand to hand, fussing with the ends of the ribbon, anticipation turned to nervousness in his stomach. He’d never bothered with changing out of his pajama bottoms today - Ben had insisted that was not only acceptable, but encouraged, on holidays - and as soon as he shoved the box into Ben’s waiting hands, he wiped his damp palms on the flannel, sighing. “It’s not the main event, of course, and I’ve got no idea whether you’ll even like it, but I just… I saw it and I thought of you. And then the woman at Bloomingdale’s, she seemed to think it would look good on your - oh dammit, I can’t say that without spoiling the surprise, can I?” Hux winced, having caught himself just in time.

“If you don’t like it, we can return it and find something that suits you better. I’ve kept the receipt - it’s tucked right inside the box, and I’m well acquainted with Bloomingdale’s return policy...” But Ben was already tearing into it, removing the ribbon, fingers poised over the lid, and before Hux could explain himself further, the padded box was tossed to land beside him on the sofa and Ben was holding the delicate silver band up to inspect it. He dangled it from a finger, turning it so that it caught the lights from the tree, which were the only ones left on in the apartment, a look Hux couldn’t read on his face. Did he like it? Hate it? Wish Hux had chosen something else? Hux couldn’t say. “I wasn’t sure you how felt about jewelry.” He cleared his throat, hands wringing in his lap. “It seems so cliche, I know - but I thought it might be useful when you need something to fiddle with. It’’s very smooth, I felt it to make sure, and it’s simple enough that you can hide it if you want to -”

“Hux.” Ben’s eyes locked with his, silencing him, and he held out the bracelet, still looped around his finger. “Stop talking and help me put this thing on.” It was a command, but a teasing one. Where his expression had once been unreadable, now there was a smile, soft and thoughtful all at once, on his face, a playful affection dancing in the mossy brown of his eyes and tugging at the corners of his mouth. He looked thoroughly amused, Hux thought, jangling the bracelet with a sense of impatience as he presented the opposite wrist - waiting expectantly for Hux to catch up, as so often seemed to be the case with the two of them. His forearm was flipped over so that the inside was exposed, scars laid bare and uncovered as if he hadn’t thought twice about it - but Hux knew better. The kind of trust that implied, that it had taken for Ben to strip away all pretense from what he had once guarded so closely, the extent of the faith Ben had in him… it was more than he’d ever had in himself. It left him breathless, and the bracelet shook in Hux’ hand when he took it from around Ben’s finger.

His hands were so unsteady, it took Hux two tries before he was able to work the clasp correctly, fingers stuttering on the latch, which sat directly over Ben’s pulsepoint - but when finally he managed it, it fit Ben’s wrist perfectly. For all her prattling on, the woman at Bloomingdale’s had been right all along.

“There,” he whispered, Ben’s hand still resting between his, Hux tilting it first to one side, then to the other, so he could see how the silver flattered him from every angle. “Tell me honestly: what do you think?”  

“It’s perfect,” Ben breathed, gently reclaiming his hand so he could examine it closer, turning his wrist this way and that. The bracelet fit comfortably around his wrist, not tight enough to make him feel trapped, but not so loose that it’d annoy him when it moved around. He’d always preferred silver over any other metal, because silver always worked. Unlike gold, which just got lackluster and… _worn_ , silver always aged with dignity. When it was brand new like this, Ben loved the paleness of it, how it shone in the light, and when it aged, he loved the way it darkened at the edges and in the corners, but remained light and shiny in the middle. For whatever reason, Ben found it comforting. Not that he’d ever say any of that out loud; he knew how cheesy it sounded. Instead, he threw himself at Hux, causing them both to topple over, kissing him deeply.

“Thank you,” he mumbled against his lips when they parted for air - Hux’ arms still holding him close, hands having sneaked up under his tee-shirt to draw lazy little circles over his back. “It’s beautiful. I love it. I love you.” He nuzzled Hux’ bearded cheek for a moment, enjoying the feeling of being held close; he would never tire of it, he knew. “Now, I’ve got something for you too. It’s, uhm, not much, but I did my best. But, uhm, if you don’t… if you don’t like it, it’s okay. I can work something out. Something better, I-”

Hux kissed him again to shut him up, only letting go enough to give Ben some wiggle room to reach for the gift and curl up next to him as he prepared to open it.

“I clearly remember you telling me to stop talking and let you enjoy your gift.” Hux’ mouth was set in a pleased smirk as his fingers worked their way underneath and inside of paper that looked liked tin-foil but somehow shinier, sliding along the loose edges where it had been taped together.  “I think it’s time you take your own advice.” Silver glitter collected under his fingernails, clinging to his skin with as much tenacity as the kind of sand that had to be showered off in order to be free of it entirely, and he pursed his lips at the feeling until he realized what exactly it was that he was unwrapping.

What a coincidence that both he and Ben had gotten each other paintings, he thought; the difference was, of course, that while Hux had found Ben’s, Ben had _painted_ this one. Hux recognized Ben’s style immediately. Even before the thing was fully unwrapped, Ben’s fluid brushstrokes - the texture left behind in the oil, raised tracks of each motion of his brush swirling up and off the canvas - were unmistakable, reminiscent of the ones that covered their living room wall, even if the paint Ben had used there had been different. It was painted in the same style as the wall as well - not exactly realism, but something dreamier, like a photograph captured in flame - and Hux tore away the rest of the paper with great care, folding it into neat squares before setting it aside, careful not to accidentally touch the painting’s surface, where, with each tear of the paper, the fractured pieces of a face came together.

Hux gasped. It was _him._ Of all the subjects he could have painted, Ben had chosen _him._ Again. Once, Ben had drawn him so that he looked kind; here, he looked fierce. Regal. So alive it discomfited him to look at it, ready to burst, molten hot and steaming, from the canvas. It was _exquisite,_ and not for the first time, Hux sat in awe of Ben’s talent. Of what his hands could do, aside from take Hux apart.  

“Ben,” he murmured, fingers tracing the edge of the frame, “this is… it’s simply the most incredible gift I’ve ever received. You painted it, of course?” He waited for Ben’s nod of approval before continuing. “I’m… I don’t know when you found the time to do this. It must have taken _days.”_ Hux hadn’t posed for the painting, had had no idea of its existence before now, and he wondered at the time Ben must have spent studying his face when he wasn’t looking. The thought made him flush. “Is it… is it horribly vain that I want to hang this in my office? I don’t want to keep it here, where only I get to see it. That seems selfish. _Everyone_ should see this, and I wouldn’t be the first businessman to hang a portrait of this size over his desk. Though mine would certainly be the best of them.”

It was Ben who flushed this time, cheeks going pink as he buried his face in his hands, the silver bracelet on his wrist again catching the only light left in the room - a symbol, even in near darkness, of Hux’ claim. Hux would never _own_ Ben, but he’d keep him, for as long as Ben allowed him to.

“It’s not like you’re not kind of vain anyway,” Ben mumbled into his hands, his words muffled.  “You, uhm... I seriously think you own more clothes than pretty much anyone I’ve ever heard of. N-not that that’s necessarily a bad thing! I just... nevermind.”

Hux chuckled his agreement. He couldn’t argue with that logic - his closet alone was as big as some studio apartments in the city - and he leaned across the sofa to give Ben a peck on the cheek, to let him know his words had been taken in jest, as they were intended. Perhaps there would come a day that Ben’s teasing failed to make Hux love him all the more, but it hadn’t come yet.

“Then it goes in my office,” he said. “Immediately. I’ll have Mitaka on it the moment I’m back at work. In fact, I can probably text him tonight and have him make the appropriate connections to have the portrait hangers there by the time I arrive on Monday-”

Ben uncovered one eye to look at Hux incredulously. “Are you _serious_? Hux, for fuck’s sake, you can’t ask him to do that on _Christmas._ That’s just not fair. Besides, I still haven’t even gotten to open the last of my gifts. I’m glad that you like it, I really am, but can’t it wait until tomorrow or something? Not to, uhm, be greedy or anything, I just… I kind of want to see what it’s inside that last package you got for me.”

Hux supposed Ben was right about that, and really he _did_ want to give Ben his gift. It was just that… well, now that he’d seen what Ben had given him, the trouble he’d went through to make it, how beautifully it was done… his felt so very inadequate. Perhaps, he realized, Ben had never wanted one of his grandfather’s paintings to begin with; he’d never said as much. There was every chance it would only bring back painful memories for him - ones it would have been easier to forget. But there was no helping it now. The package sat propped up against the tree - it had been too large to fit underneath of it - and Ben had already seen it, had been looking at it for _days._ It wasn’t as if he could claim that there _were_ no more gifts, that the bracelet had been it, and with a roll of his suddenly tight shoulders, Hux got up from the sofa to carry the package, so huge it was awkward in his arms, close enough that Ben could open it.

“I just… Ben, sweetness, I don’t want to disappoint. No-” Hux shook his head, crouching down next to the package, so that he was knelt on the floor in front of Ben. “It- it’s not that. That’s not right. It’s only... when I chose this gift, it seemed like the right idea. The _only_ idea, but now I’m not sure. If it hurts you - if it doesn’t bring you the joy I want it to bring you - you have to promise you’ll tell me, alright? We’ll be rid of it and you’ll never have to look at it again.” He wetted his lips, placing the palms of his hands on Ben’s knees, hoping he couldn’t feel the moisture gathered there. “Go on, open it. It’s yours.”

Ben didn’t unwrap the painting with near as much care as Hux had unwrapped his, tearing the paper away first from the front of the canvas, to reveal the tranquil face of a young woman reclining in a garden, rose blossoms surrounding her on every side, close enough to brush the rings on her fingers where her hand was held to her forehead, pushing the hair away from her face. The painting spoke of a late spring day, just warm enough to be uncomfortable while sitting in the sun as the woman was, oversized leaves casting shadows on her casual gingham dress. The first time Hux had laid eyes on it, he’d thought he could _feel_ the sweet, cloying heat of the garden, even in the middle of winter, with the slush still clinging to his shoes. He didn’t know who the woman in the painting was - he’d asked the collector who’d owned it before him, but the man hadn’t known either. Had said he didn’t know much of the history of the painting at all, other than it had been titled _Woman in Rose Garden_ and that it had been completed shortly before Skywalker’s death, but still, Hux had needed to have it. Had needed Ben to have the painting of this strangely familiar woman in the height of spring.  

When Hux looked up at him, he saw that Ben had never finished unwrapping the canvas; as soon as he’d torn away the first strip of paper, he’d frozen, so that wrapping still clung to the frame, and he seemed barely to be breathing as he stared at it as if Hux wasn’t there at all, paper crumpled in his hand.

“The painting,” Hux started, his stomach dropping, knowing already that he’d made a horrible mistake. Had managed to hurt Ben in unimaginable ways with his own hubris. That he should have stuck with the bracelet and let that be that. “The painting - it’s one of your grandfather’s. Anakin Skywalker’s work can still fetch quite a pretty penny on the art market, did you know that? Apparently, the collectors haven’t forgotten him. He -” Hux’ fingers tightened on Ben’s knees, emotion choking his voice. “He was an incredibly talented man, Ben. Almost as talented as you. And this… it isn’t the only one. There are more, if… if you want them. If you want to _see_ them. But I thought for now I’d - I chose this one because the woman in the painting, she’s… there’s something in her face that reminds me of you, as ridiculous as that sounds.”

Ben could scarcely believe what he was looking at. Memories came flooding through his mind; his grandmother’s living room, sunlight, summer, her smile as she looked at a painting - _this very painting_ \- the way she would run her finger along the little scribbled mess that was Anakin’s signature. The rose garden… he remembered it still. They’d sat there so many times in the summer, Ben drinking lemonade and prattling on about anything and everything, while she’d tended to the flowers. She’d said that his grandfather had been a romantic fool, but that the painting was her most precious possession, because it had been the last one he’d painted for her - before everything went to hell. When he still had a somewhat clear mind. He’d painted her - _it_ \- just out of memory, to show her just how much he loved her.

And now the painting was _here_. In Ben’s hands. It was… almost too much to take in. He was vaguely aware of the tears running down his cheeks, but nothing could stop the smile spreading across his face as he ran a finger gently across the surface.

“I thought-” he began, but his voice cracked and he had to try again. “I thought it was lost forever… Leia, she- she sold it. Said it wasn’t worth saving, wasn’t- wasn’t worth anything. Hux...” He met his partner’s worried gaze. “This woman… she’s my grandmother. This, uhm, this is - _was_ \- her favourite painting. It hung in her living room when I was little, I-... You have no idea how much this means to me. I just… I love you. _So much_.” He carefully leaned the painting against the coffee table, before crawling onto Hux’ lap and hiding his face against his chest. “This is the best gift you could-... uhm, that you could ever have given me. I… Thank you. Just, _thank you._ ”

Hux buried his hand in Ben’s hair, holding him close. Outside, frost gathered on the windows of their apartment as the moon rose over the city, but here, inside, it was as warm as spring.  

“Your grandmother - she was beautiful, Ben. Just like you.”


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: mention of food issues.

The New Year brought with it a blizzard that all but shut the city down for three days. Hux wouldn’t have minded the respite - Ben made welcome company, the hearty smells of his cooking, now that Hux knew his secret, permeating the apartment and making it feel more like a home than it ever had before, his perpetually cold feet pressed up against Hux’ thigh in bed enough to keep him there all day - if it hadn’t been for Jessika. He hadn’t been able to avoid her forever, and had finally been cornered into agreeing to another meeting in the days after Christmas, when he was too drunk on Ben’s touch and Ben’s pasta to fend her off. Hux had a feeling this would be the last of them - he was as like to throw her out of his office himself as she was to storm out of her own accord - but that hadn’t stopped her from flooding Hux’ inbox with panicked emails when the storm hit on the day of their meeting. While others were busy checking the batteries in their flashlights to ensure they’d be prepared should the power go down and Hux would rather have been curled up with Ben on the sofa watching white powder pile up on rooftops, Hux instead had his laptop set up on his kitchen counter, listening to Jessika’s frantic pleas over Skype. There was no way he’d be able to appreciate her vision if he didn’t see her sketches _in person,_ she’d sworn, and so it was that, on the second day of the year, Hux found himself taking the towncar as far as it would go and then trudging the rest of the way to his office through streets clogged with snow.

The city had been deserted, an endless sea of swirling white. He couldn’t see five feet in front of him, the men running the plows the only other brave souls he’d come in contact with, and they’d looked at him like he’d lost his mind. Which, he supposed, was fair - he was a man in a Burberry overcoat and leather dress shoes that were absolutely _not_ supposed to get wet who was currently up to his knees in the worst snowstorm New York had seen in the past three years.  

If he’d thought the walk in was bad, the meeting itself was _murder,_ he and Jessika the only people who’d ventured into Imperial that day, save for the security guard, who’d taken one look at Hux’ snow-crusted scarf and wisely chosen to shut his mouth. There’d been no one to run interference between them, and by the time he’d escaped Jessika’s clutches, he’d wanted nothing more than to take his frozen feet (once inside the heated office building, the snow left on his shoes had started to melt, seeping inside and into his socks until his toes felt like blocks of ice) and make a beeline for his home, where he would put the latest of Jessika’s designs directly into his paper-shredder and then slip his equally frozen fingers inside Ben’s shirt and keep them there, pressed against the smooth skin of Ben’s back, until he forgot all about this wretched day. He hadn’t known such a bad mood since before he and Ben had declared their feelings, and he’d had to give himself a good talking to on the elevator ride up to the penthouse. Ben didn’t deserve his ire, nor did Millicent. It wasn’t their fault that Jessika must have been sent to humble him, that he wasn’t one bit closer to pleasing her than he had been on the day she’d first approached him about her account.

As soon as he entered the apartment, Hux was met with the smell of something savory on the stove, his stomach rumbling and his fingers tingling as feeling made its way back into them, his fingerless gloves soaked through. Ben didn’t meet him at the door, but he _did_ call to him from the kitchen, something affectionate-sounding between the clattering of pots and pans, though Hux couldn’t make out exactly what over the music - one of Ben’s choices, turned up loud enough that he knew Ben had been singing along while he cooked. (And maybe, if it was a good enough day, dancing along too.) The thought did a little to lift his sour mood as Hux used his teeth to pull a glove first off one hand, then the other. Ben liked his music louder than Hux did, but he’d barely shed his coat when the song - Hux thought he recognized it as one by a group Ben liked, the _Brothers_ or _Sisters_ or something similarly familial-sounding - faded to a decibel less likely to shatter his eardrums.

“What was that, darling? I couldn’t hear you over the music.” Hux stomped his feet for the third time since entering the elevator, knocking yet more snow off of the soles, before bending down to remove them. When he set his briefcase to one side, the latch popped open, spilling his collection of Jessika’s designs - from the very first to the most recent ones he’d only seen today - across the floor, and swearing, one shoe already off and in his hand, Hux hopped on the opposite foot as he attempted to gather them off the floor before they became sodden with the half-melted slush from his shoes. Not that it would do much to harm their quality, he thought uncharitably, when he almost toppled over onto his ass and had to grab hold of the coat rack, which wobbled precariously, in order to right himself.

By the time he’d managed to collect the drawings, remove his other shoe, finish unwinding the scarf from around his neck, and straighten the coat rack from its near crash to the floor, Ben was standing in the living room, near the sofa, looking at him with a bemused expression on his face. Hux couldn’t blame him - he was sure he made quite the spectacle. His briefcase was still spilling out onto the carpet, Jessika’s designs, now damp and curling at the edges, shoved haphazardly under his arm.

“Are you okay?” Ben asked, giving Hux the sort of half-smile that made everything just a little more bearable, whether he wanted it to or not. He was barefoot, the cuffs of his favorite pair of pajama bottoms just brushing the floor, the well-worn college sweater Phasma had once stolen from Hux stretched comfortably over the breadth of his shoulders. The sleeves were rolled up past his elbows, proof that he had been cooking, even if Hux hadn’t smelled it, so that the silver band on his left wrist was exposed, and he held a bottle of Coke in one hand. “It kinda sounded like you were trying to tear the house down. Did something happen?”  

“Just the perfect end to a perfect day,” he groused, ruffling his damp hair with his fingers and sending snow melt flying, but he could hardly hold onto his annoyance when Ben pulled an exaggerated face at a droplet that hit him square in the nose. Hux blanched, already regretting his snappish reply. “Sorry, love.” Now in just his stocking feet, he moved toward Ben to wipe away the water about to drip off the end of his nose, and Ben made another face at the treatment, scrunching his face up and crossing his eyes to get a better look at it. It was so ridiculous that Hux had to do the the same; scrunching his own nose up to mirror Ben’s until Ben failed to stifle a giggle, his face relaxing, the folds along the side of his nose going soft in the way Hux so loved. “You know, I was quite determined to retain my poor mood, and you’re making it very difficult, even if I _have_ been frozen half into an icicle twice today now.”  

Ben beamed back at him, and Hux took this opportunity to enact his earlier plan, winding icy hands up underneath Ben’s sweater and laying them flat against his ribcage, so that he gasped in shock as goosebumps immediately rose on his skin, trying, for once, to twist away from Hux’ touch. Hux, however, was relentless, moving them around his sides and hanging on tight in the areas he now knew Ben was most ticklish, even when he let out a yelp of protest, Jessika’s sketches still tucked under his arm.

“Hmmm… would you look at that?” Hux’ fingers danced up and down Ben’s sides, as if his ribs were the keys of a piano and Hux a rather more talented player than he’d turned out to be for all of the lessons his father had required him to take. This earned him another yelp that had Hux well and truly smiling. “I feel better already.”

“Well I - _ah!_ ” Ben’s breath stuttered when Hux’ cold thumb pressed into his hipbone. “I d-don’t!” But his words didn’t hold much weight when Hux could still hear the laughter between their lines, could feel it sitting just below the surface in the way Ben’s back expanded with each inhale, even the barest remnants of his frustration melting away as easily as his chill now that he had wormed his way into Ben’s space. Ben quieted as Hux’ hands warmed under his sweater, settling into his touch, his breath, spiced with something - he must have tasted whatever it was he was cooking, Hux thought - coming in little puffs of air against Hux’ cheek. “Sorry you had a shitty day.”

“It’s just… work. Comes with the territory, I’m afraid,” Hux sighed, stepping back with a kiss to Ben’s forehead now that he no longer felt like to freeze to death before he tasted the dinner Ben was cooking. “Nothing worth troubling yourself over.” And it wasn’t. Still, it was nice to have someone who cared enough to ask at all. Usually, he was met with only Millicent, and she tended to run for the bedroom whenever she saw that Hux wasn’t in the mood to spoil her. “It’s the account for that new interior design institute. You know the one - it’s been driving me to bloody distraction since well before the holidays?” Ben looked thoughtful for a moment, chewing his lip and squinting into Hux’ face, before his own lit up in recognition.  

“Yes, _that_ one,” Hux agreed, lifting his eyebrows meaningfully. “As if either of us could forget.  Jessika - the woman who owns the damned institution - she’s gone and convinced herself she’s the best one to draft their blasted logo. And she won’t stop there, oh no! She refuses to relinquish control of the marketing campaign in its entirety. Well, if that’s the case, I can’t figure what the hell she needs _me_ for. It’s not as if the CEO of the city’s most successful marketing firm three years running might know what he’s talking about. _Certainly_ not! The true expert here is a girl barely old enough to order her own martini who - and I’m not trying to be rude here, I’m _not,_ but if you knew what I’d been through… Ben, if my life depended on her ability to draw her way out of a paper bag, I would start planning my funeral.” He took the stack of sketches from under his arm, uncaring of the way they crinkled in his grasp now that they’d already been dampened and dried funny. The damage had been done. “She forced me out into what is already being called the worst storm of the winter - and we’re only halfway through, mind you, so it must be pretty damned bad out there - to look at _these!_ As if my seeing them _today_ rather than waiting until it was advisable to venture outside would make any difference in their quality. Or apparent lack thereof.”

By the time he’d finished, Ben’s eyes had caught on the papers in his hand, looking at them critically.

“Mind if I…?” Ben asked, reaching out for the stack of moist papers. Hux quickly handed them over, as if just holding them caused him severe discomfort.

He flipped through them as he turned to walk back into the kitchen to check on their dinner. Hux’ obvious happiness at the prospect of having home-cooked meals on a regular basis had been a welcome boost to Ben’s fragile self-esteem, and though he’d been more than a little nervous the first few times - after years of being met with little but cruel remarks about all the faults Leia and Han had found in his cooking - there was no doubt whatsoever that Hux _really_ liked Ben’s food. The praise was never-ending, and he’d quickly realized that he’d better start making double the amount per meal, because otherwise he’d have nothing left for lunch. Hux would probably lick his plate clean if he was a less refined man, but at least he didn’t make any weight or exercise related comments during their meals - and while Ben hadn’t minded it the first time, it was still something he struggled with a lot, and he’d worried about it for a total of three days before he managed to gather enough courage to tell Hux. He didn’t go into specifics, couldn’t, because the topic was still something he couldn’t quite put into words even to himself - instead he just said it made eating much harder for him due to things he’d been told by people, and Hux had vowed not to mention anything of the sort ever again. He’d also graciously offered to finish Ben’s plate for him if he couldn’t manage it himself, because it would be such a shame to waste such good food. Ben still didn’t have the energy to cook everyday, but he hoped that at least one day a week Hux would get to come home to the smell of Ben’s latest little culinary experiment.

Having quickly checked to make sure the fish and seafood soup he was making wasn’t about to escape the pot, he gave the… sketches, for lack of a better word, another look. They were not good. Ben would even go so far as to say they were absolute shit, and if there was some sort of theme going on, some sort of coherent idea behind them he sure as hell couldn’t see it. Not only were the drawing themselves bad, half the surface of each paper was full of little scribbled notes, colour tests, completely unrelated doodles, and what looked like little drops of… tea, maybe. Some sort of beverage, anyhow.

No wonder Hux was so offended by these! Who in their right mind would bring stuff like this to a professional to begin with - even if the sketches had actually been good? Sure, Ben wasn’t really a professional either, but at least he knew that notes and colour tests went on a separate piece of paper! He was glad he’d never had to attend one of these meetings, because he was pretty sure he’d have said something very rude before he could stop himself - and he could only imagine how hard it must’ve been for Hux to maintain some sort of basic politeness and level of professionalism in the face of… _this_. With a deep sigh and a shake of his head, he put them down on the counter, and turned to look at his partner.

“Hux,” he chuckled, when he caught him with a spoon in hand, just about to reach for the lid. “Leave the soup alone. I just put the fish in there, you can’t taste it yet.” Hux looked slightly embarrassed, but put the spoon away and instead came over to pull Ben into a hug. “Those sketches are really bad,” Ben mumbled against his neck. “Like, really, _really_ bad. Does she-... I mean, does she actually, you know, think they’re _good_? Are these actually what she expects you to, uhm, to work with?”

“Unfortunately, the answer appears to be yes. At first I was convinced that she was trying to make a fool of me, but it’s been _weeks._ I’m afraid she’s serious.”

“Wow. I am _so_ sorry you have to deal with this. Honestly, even I’d be really offended if someone handed those to me, and I’m not even, you know, a pro or anything.” He was quiet for a moment, distracted by Hux’ fingers playing with his hair and how his beard tickled Ben’s temple. “This might be a really dumb question, but… uhm, what are they even supposed to be? Like, uhm, is this her logo or what? They look a little, well... all over the place.”

“Hell if I know,” Hux swore, though his exasperation lacked any real conviction behind it. In the kitchen, the smell of Ben’s soup was stronger than throughout the rest of the apartment, the heat rising from the bubbling pot making it a good few degrees warmer there next to the stove, and Hux’ mouth all but watered in anticipation, his muscles becoming loose and languid as he thawed completely. Had Ben not just spread Jessika’s abysmal sketches out on the counter, he would have been hard-pressed to remember what had had him so irritated in the first place. “If you can make heads or tails of it, you’re doing a damn sight better than me. I’m sure one of them is supposed to be her logo, but even she can’t tell you which. It changes by the hour.” He clicked his tongue.  “She’s also been hard at work coming up with what she claims is some kind of catchphrase - though the complete and unabridged collection of Jessika’s prose is only available in my inbox for the time being. They _rhyme,_ Ben, all six pages of them. The girl’s a regular poet.” Hux made another noise of derision, nodding over Ben’s shoulder, then resting his chin there.  

“In the corner of one of the sketches, there is what appears to be a… a… I’m not sure what it is, to be honest. Some smallish, snouted species of animal? She’s convinced that the thing would make an excellent mascot, and I’ve been too much of a coward to ask her what in the hell it’s supposed to be. I don’t think I _want_ to know.” A shudder went up his spine at the thought. “It’s hopeless, that’s what it is. As much as it pains me, love, I think it’s time I admit this one has been a write-off from the start. How many more three hour meetings am I going to dedicate to a cause that’s never going to pay off before I cut my losses and run? I hate to do it - it could be a valuable account if we could get Jessika to stick with what she’s good at, assuming she does, in fact, possess some skill when it comes to interior design - but some pursuits just aren’t worth the frustration they inspire.” Hux gave Ben a light pat on his lower back, just above the slight swell of his ass. “She’s too bloody indecisive - there’s nothing Imperial could provide her with that she wouldn’t immediately turn on its head.”  

With his hand resting so close to a piece of Ben’s anatomy that he so enjoyed, Hux found it difficult to focus on anything else, and he shook his head to clear it, plucking at the band of Ben’s pajama pants absentmindedly.

“Whatever,” he sighed, letting his eyes flutter closed as he breathed in the aroma of fish rich with spice. “It’s no matter. I’ll tell her tomorrow - no more meetings. It’s past time she and Imperial go their separate ways. Our journey together, as _pleasant_ as it has been, has reached its inevitable conclusion.”  Ben shuddered when his hand dipped low enough to brush his tailbone, and Hux laughed deep in his throat. “Really, I pity the poor idiot she convinces to accept her account more than anything; I just hope he knows what he’s in for.” Not everyone was lucky enough to have Ben at home to keep them sane, after all.  

Hux, on the other hand, had soup on the stove and, he hoped, some of the bread Ben had baked a few days before left over in the breadbox. Jessika could keep her money and all the irritation that came with it, he thought, only letting go of Ben to sneak the taste of soup he’d been denied earlier; he’d take this any day.

\---

At 2:37am Ben finally gave up trying to sleep. The anxiety crawled around his body, sitting tight around his heart, and making it impossible to lie still enough to go back to the fitful state of half-sleep he’d been in and out of for the past few hours. He’d actually managed to fall asleep for a little, the result of a very lengthy make-out session that had left him feeling like jelly. Hux had been quite eager, but in the end he’d been so tired from his meeting and the three helpings of soup he’d had, that he’d actually fallen asleep on top of Ben - face buried against Ben’s neck, one hand buried in his hair, and one hand on his hip. The weight of him had been both comforting and sorely needed, and Ben had managed to doze off for an hour or so before the anxiety woke him up again.

It had started at dinner. Ben didn’t quite think about what he was doing, engrossed as they both were in the _Doctor Who_ episode “The Impossible Planet,” but he’d eaten two whole bowls of soup. Two _large_ ones. With bread. And then, a couple of episodes later, Hux had somehow convinced him that the ice cream sitting in their freezer really needed eating before it started to taste weird. When Ben had realized it, he’d had an actual panic attack. It had been too late to do anything about the food in his belly, and he’d have a hard time explaining it away anyway, but he couldn’t stop himself from digging his fingers into his stomach, as if he could stop it from expanding, stop any nutrition from being absorbed, stop a single ounce of it from affecting his body. Leia’s words echoed in his mind from all the times she’d commented on his eating, on how he’d get fat in no time if he kept stuffing his face like that, on how greedy, selfish, spoiled he was, and how he really should ‘leave some for everyone else.’ She’d said worse things, too, and as always his brain was merciless when it came to dragging it all back to the surface.

Then, of course, came the thoughts - the ones he hated, but struggled to keep away - of what he could allow himself to eat for the next day, the next week, even the next month, in order to make up for this slip up. It was wrong, and it was sick, and it was bad for him, and he knew that, but he couldn’t stop it. He wasn’t sure if Hux had understood a word of his garbled mess of an explanation - apology? - but he had at least found himself wrapped in a pair of strong arms, Hux gently but firmly getting his hands away from his belly and letting him grip onto his shirt instead. Then he was rocked gently back and forth while he sobbed and tried to breathe properly. His vision swam, and everything suddenly felt too bright, too loud, too… just too much - only the solid form of Hux next to him, the warmth, the soothing whispers and gentle encouragements to breathe were bearable.

They’d managed to get him out of the panic attack, but it seemed that despite their best efforts, Ben’s brain just wasn’t done with him yet. If he stayed in bed, he’d only get annoyed, because Hux had entered that state of sleep where he’d started talking - and while Ben usually found it endearing, he knew things like that only pissed him off when he was this on edge, and he didn’t want Hux to suffer because of his piece of shit brain. So instead he gently untangled himself from Hux and the covers, found his t-shirt - which had landed on the floor by Hux’ nightstand when they had tumbled into bed earlier, with Hux’ own right next to it - and snuck out of the bedroom. Hux muttered something about shoelaces, and Ben shook his head in fond exasperation as he closed the door behind him. Once in the kitchen, he filled a pot with water to make tea, avoiding the kettle so as to not accidentally wake Hux up, and dug out the little jar of Lapsang tea he’d been given the other day. Millicent, who had been sprawled out like some orange rug on his pillow, came waddling into the kitchen, giving him an annoyed _mrrrrow_ that left no room to doubt just how displeased she was. Apparently, she did not approve of her human leaving bed without telling her - but Ben had learned his lesson, and simply bribed her into silence with some of her favourite catnip treats. It worked like a charm - it usually did.

But he was still restless, and for a moment he pondered shutting himself in his little studio to paint something, but he didn’t really feel like it. He didn’t quite know what he wanted to start with, anyway, and none of his current projects were really suited to work on when he was like this. He’d just get frustrated and probably tear the canvases apart. Still, there was that itch in his hands to grip a pencil or a brush, but as far as ideas went, his mind was blank. It was rapidly becoming one of his least favourite states of mind; feeling the creative urges, but having no clue as to what to actually _do_ with them. Then his eye caught those ugly sketches - still abandoned on the counter - and he could practically feel the cogs in his brain starting to turn. Maybe he could just go get a few sheets of paper and see if he could work out what the hell these things were supposed to be? It wasn’t as if they could get any worse, and it didn’t demand a lot of effort for him to try and be serious about it. It would just be playing around.

Yeah, maybe that could work.

After picking up some size A4 paper and a case of colouring pencils, Ben returned to the kitchen, made himself comfortable on one of the barstools, and got started. It didn’t take long before he was so engrossed in what he was doing that he forgot both his tea and what time it was - not even noticing when Millicent finally gave up and went to sleep on the couch, or when the sun started creeping up over the horizon.

\---

Though he had no plans of going into the office until the plows had made some minimal progress in clearing the roads, Hux woke early the next morning, the highrises outside his window still shrouded in that eerie, orangish half-light that came with snow-filled sunrises. As he blinked to awareness, Hux raised himself up on an arm, shirtless and shivering, trying to make sense of what had roused him. Not his alarm, he knew that much. He wasn’t interested in a repeat of the morning before, and now that there was no Jessika nagging him to risk life and limb making his way across the city, he could see no reason to drag himself from the comfort of his bed. So why was he even _awake_ at this hour, when there was little chance anyone else would be arriving to Imperial for at least a few hours yet?  

With a yawn so wide it cracked his jaw, Hux let himself flop back onto the mattress, taking all the blankets on the bed with him. The whir of the heater made a soothing backdrop to his drowsing, his eyes sliding closed again as he drifted pleasantly.  

He couldn’t have said how long they would have stayed that way had he not rolled over onto an expanse of smooth, undisturbed cotton when he turned to lie on his other side, in search of an area of his pillow that hadn’t been squashed down during the night. That had been too _easy,_ and one eye opened just enough to look around in confusion. He wiggled his hips experimentally, then frowned; something was missing. There was no body glued to his side, no leg thrown over his own, no weight sprawled across his chest pinning him to the mattress. The spot where Ben usually slept was bare and cold, the sheets as unrumpled as if he hadn’t been there in _hours,_ and with a sigh, Hux heaved himself up and out of bed, hissing when he threw the blankets off to expose himself to the air outside of his cocoon.

It wasn’t the first time Hux had woken to find Ben missing from their bed; sleep still didn’t always come easily for Ben, and after last night, it wasn’t much of a surprise that he’d struggled to find it at all. Still, it made Hux’ stomach sink to imagine how long ago Ben might have given up, how many hours of the darkened early morning he might have spent sitting alone, flipping through channels while Hux snored away in the bedroom, never knowing. He wished his senses were sharp enough that they’d wake him whenever Ben did, but Hux had always been a heavy sleeper, dead to the world as soon as he allowed his mind to shut off. There was no guaranteeing he’d wake up in the event of a minor explosion a few floors down; he could hardly expect Ben’s quiet padding across the carpet to rouse him, and with eyes still half-crusted with sleep, Hux fumbled next to the bed until he lit upon the shirt he’d left strewn there the night before, then pulled it over his bare shoulders, stopping only to smooth his hair into some semblance of order before stumbling out into the living area. 

“Ben?” he whispered. _“Ben?_ Where the devil are you?” The penthouse was silent, but still it didn’t take long to find him. While the rest of the apartment was cast in darkness, the lights were on over the stovetop, Ben sitting at the counter, his head propped in his hand - finally, it appeared, asleep. A bit of drool had collected at the corner of his mouth and his chin drooped in a way that threatened his face would soon meet with granite if someone didn’t intervene. There was a collection of papers spread in front of him, a coloring pencil still loosely held in the hand that wasn’t busy with supporting his head, as if he’d lost the battle with sleep in between strokes of his pencil. “Ben, oh _sweetness_.” Hux tiptoed into the kitchen, scratching his beard, something equal parts sweet and sad pulling at his chest. “You’re going to get such a crick in your neck. You can’t sleep like this.”  

But apparently he was - and quite nicely too, from the looks of it - stifling a little snuffling noise into his palm that had Hux smiling at him with undeniable fondness. He _tsk’d_ at the sight, easing Ben’s face out of his hand and into his own as he brushed away the bit of drool with his thumb.

“Ben, sweetheart? It’s time to wake up now.” Ben made a wordless noise of complaint and tried to turn away, but Hux continued stroking over his cheek, talking quietly. “Or rather, time for _someone_ to wake up enough to go back to sleep - properly this time, I think. There’s this little invention called a _‘bed,’_ and I’ve heard that it makes for far more comfortable sleeping than granite kitchen counters.” When Ben blinked up at him, smacking his lips, his hand immediately resuming its drawing motions, continuing the last line he’d put to paper as if he had never been asleep at all, he was met with a lopsided grin from Hux. How it was that the boy who couldn’t find sleep in the finest Egyptian cotton sheets could rest so easily sitting fully upright in his bloody kitchen Hux would never know.

“Hux, ‘s tha’ you?” Ben slurred, sounding all of ten years old as he brought the back of his hand up to wipe at his mouth, though Hux had already taken care of that for him. He was still more asleep than awake, though his brain hadn’t registered that yet, and Hux barely managed to rescue him when he lost his balance on the barstool and almost toppled off backward.

“The one and only,” Hux laughed, a soft drawl, his hands still steady on Ben’s shoulders while he regained his equilibrium. “Couldn’t sleep?” he asked, “or were you simply overtaken with inspiration?” Ben ‘s only answer to his teasing was a yawn so great it matched Hux’ from earlier, his mess of dark curls so easily accessible that Hux couldn’t help himself from dropping a kiss on top of them as he studied the papers that were currently half-obscured by Ben’s elbow. “How long have you been sitting out here?”

“Uhm…” Ben yawned again, his throat letting out a little squeak at the end of it as he sagged into Hux’ hold, his head falling back to rest against Hux’ shoulder. “Dunno… since, uhm, three, maybe? I don’t know - didn’t really look at the clock after I got up. Sorry I worried you.” Hux shook his head at that. Most of the night then. Yes, Ben would be going back to bed until well after he’d left for Imperial, if Hux had anything to say about it, and he trailed a finger over the corner of one of the pages Ben had been working on, where a piece of something pastel blue was visible.  

“It looks like you’ve got quite the collection here,” he said, with another kiss to Ben’s unruly hair. He squinted at what he could see of the drawing. “What’s all of this?”

“I, uhm… Dunno,” Ben mumbled, a bit sheepishly. “I kinda just, you know, needed to focus on something that wasn’t my brain, and I figured, like… uhm, why not try and see if I could make sense of these things? It’s nothing serious or anything, uhm, I just kinda… uhm, doodled some stuff. Figured it couldn’t really be any worse than that.” He pointed at the original sketches. “You can look if you want to. Like I said, they’re just doodles anyway.”

He got to his feet, blushing at how unsteady he was, and clung to Hux as he was gently guided back to the bedroom. How had he not noticed the sun starting to rise? It was a bit embarrassing, but then again, nothing would _ever_ be close to the same level of embarrassing as Ben’s first night in this apartment. There was some anxiety clawing around in him still, and though he knew he needed sleep more than anything right now, he also didn’t want to have to face the day alone without having had a little more time in bed with Hux.

Sneaking his hands under Hux’ t-shirt just as he was about to reach over and get the covers out of the way so Ben could lie down, Ben followed it up by burying his face in the junction of Hux’ neck and shoulder, placing little feather-light kisses there - then nipping playfully at the soft skin all the way up to his ear. Hux’ neck was really sensitive, Ben had noticed, and he was grateful to have such an easily accessible weak spot to use at times like these - because the reaction from Hux was immediate. His grip on Ben tightened as he pulled him in flush against his own body, burying a hand in Ben’s hair to tilt his head up so he could kiss him. They barely parted more than an inch when they had to come up for air, and Ben found himself unable to stop his hands from roaming all over Hux’ torso. Hux, on the other hand, had one arm gently wrapped around his back to support him, and one hand firmly planted on Ben’s butt. If he’d been a bit more awake than he was now, Ben knew he’d move the hand up to his hip instead - a more gentlemanly and safe place, apparently - but Ben really liked it when Hux touched him like this. It made him feel good, made him feel… not sexy, as that word just wasn’t something Ben ever really associated with himself, but like someone who could be desired. Like Ben actually had a body that was good enough to be wanted like this despite the sad state it was in.

“When do you need to go to work?” he mumbled coyly, against Hux’ lips - gasping when Hux nipped at his own.

“Oh, not for a while yet,” Hux promised, sounding very pleased - his voice having taken on that lovely rough quality again. “The place isn’t in any danger of burning down without me in weather like this. We’ve got plenty of time, darling.”

“Good.” Ben smiled, hesitating for a moment as he gathered some courage, and then pulled Hux with him down onto the bed so that Hux ended up on top of him, and wrapped his legs around Hux’ hips to make sure he didn’t go anywhere. “I’m gonna go to sleep in a little, I promise,” he murmured, touching their noses together. “I just.. I need this. Please? Stay with me like this for a little.”

“Ask and you shall receive,” Hux promised. “I’m staying right here, sweetness - don’t you worry about _that_.”

This time, it was Ben who eventually fell asleep, but at least he’d managed to curl up against Hux’ side, a hand resting above his heart, before he did so. While Hux’ kisses weren’t a magical cure for his anxiety, they did have the wonderful ability to linger. The places where his beard had scraped against Ben’s chin and cheeks would leave his skin tingling and sensitive for hours -  a welcome and soothing reminder that this was real, this was something that happened, that Hux was there, and that he loved Ben and loved kissing him. It helped him fight all the bad stuff, kept him grounded enough to focus on taking an hour at a time - painting, drawing, or doing whatever else he felt he could manage around the apartment until Hux called him during lunch to check in on him. Even if they were sometimes just little five-minute conversations while Hux made it from one place to another between lunch meetings and whatnot, the happiness in Hux’ voice whenever he spoke to Ben meant the entire world to his ragged soul.

He only vaguely registered Hux kissing him goodbye, gentle fingers carding through his hair before adjusting the covers so he wouldn’t get cold. Millicent made herself comfortable on his hip, and Ben was out like a light for the next several hours.

\---

Hux left Imperial that afternoon with a song on his lips and a spring he didn’t bother hiding in his step, leaving Mitaka to gape after him at the rotating door, a look of disbelief on his face. He was over the moon, humming Chopin’s _Noctune in E-flat Major_ under his breath, and as he stepped off the curb and onto the street, there was nothing, he thought, that could have ruined his good mood. The city, with all its bright sounds, its honking and bustling, seemed friendlier, the pigeons ruffling their feathers so they resembled pocket-sized grey old men in their winter best somehow more charming. Even the New York city traffic didn’t bother him, and when he was met with a car that, after waiting just a moment too long to slam on its brakes, sent up a spray of slush that dotted his slacks, he did nothing more than offer the flinching driver a little salute and twitch of his lips. On any other day, perhaps, he would have read the man the riot act for possibly ruining one of his finest pairs of slacks, would have reminded him of the responsibility that came with possessing a driver’s license in the state of New York, but with the sun finally making quick work of the snow that had made travel impossible only the day before, he couldn’t be bothered.

He’d done it, by god, he thought, shaking his head incredulously and laughing at nothing. Or rather, _Ben_ had - and the thought was enough that he wanted to whoop and holler his way down the street. If this morning someone had asked him how he thought his next conversation with Jessika would go, he would have laughed in their face before pouring himself a shot of something strong - but that had been before Ben. Ben and his incredible, incredible mind and his hands that worked miracles. Ben who was a regular _Picasso_. Monet. All of them rolled into one. Ben who he was going to kiss so hard the boy forgot his own name just as soon as he walked through the door.  

Speaking of… Hux dug for his phone in the pocket of his peacoat, then shot off a text: **Home in 15 minutes, tops! So much I need to tell you! If you’re feeling up to it, put on something nice. But if sweatpants are more your speed tonight, you know I can’t get enough of you in those either. I love you.**

And did he ever - enough that he ended the text with a line of hearts that he knew was more befitting of a 15-year-old than the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. That morning, after leaving Ben in bed, where he was finally sleeping as peacefully as Hux liked to see him, head cocked and mouth open just slightly, Hux had done a quick rinse of his face, ensuring only that it was wet enough for a cursory shave, then wandered into the kitchen to place Ben’s tea mug, still half-full, in the sink and start a cup of tea for himself. It hadn’t been until then that he’d remembered the drawings Ben had been working on at all, and while he’d waited for the tea to steep, he’d spread them all out along the counter, one by one, the end of one of Ben’s coloring pencils in his mouth, so he could get a good look at each of them.

There were at least a dozen pages, each in various stages of completion and each differing slightly from the rest, though there was a visible commonality among them. In each drawing, from the first to the last, there was an air of simplicity, the designs undeniably minimalist. Spartan, but in way that made Hux glad there _wasn’t_ more to them, for all that he yearned to know what form the rest of the lines would take were they expanded upon. They really were _something_ , and he’d been so engrossed in their sparsity that he’d drunk nearly all of the tea he’d meant to take with him to work before moving from the spot. While Ben claimed he had never studied marketing, it seemed he understood instinctively the power of an impactful image, and looking at them, bare toes curled on the floor, Hux had been taken by a thought equal parts audacious and impulsive.

While sipping his tea, Hux had chosen four of the sketches, each of them inspired by different flora - two that resembled flowers written in cursive and two that were clearly meant to be trees, one with leaves, as in springtime, and one without, as now - to take with him to the office, and after tucking them safely into his briefcase, he’d texted Jessika and told her that today _he_ would be the one calling a meeting. There had been every chance she would hate them, just the way she hated everything she hadn’t created herself; this was a last-ditch effort, he knew, but what harm could come of it? If indeed she had hated them as much as he thought she might, then there wouldn’t have been any further time wasted. Ben wasn’t even on Imperial’s payroll any longer.

...but she hadn’t hated them

Jessika, upon seeing the first of Ben’s designs, had let out a squeal of delight that near shattered his eardrums, clapping her hands over her mouth. Her delight had only increased with each turn of the page until she’d reached the last of them - the leafless tree, wrought in some variety of gold pencil that raised itself off the page as if it was embossed in foil, its branches reaching up and out until they tangled into the smooth lines that formed Jessika’s name - when she shrieked so loudly that had Hux had been sure they’d picked up on it down in the lobby.  

He hadn’t known Jessika was capable of happiness until then, hadn’t been certain that she even possessed the ability to approve of something Hux showed her, but she’d been eager enough to sign the contract his legal department presented her with after that, offering her signature with a flourish as she sung Ben’s praises, telling Hux that this mystery artist deserved a raise. A promotion. That he should have been running the whole damn design team and why hadn’t Hux shown her his sketches from the very beginning? He had better not hold back on her this way in the future, she’d warned in between twisting the gold and silver rings stacked on her fingers, she knew what kind of talent he was hiding away now, and she wouldn’t let him get away with any funny business

Apparently, all it had taken for her to forget any qualms she’d had about entrusting her campaign to Hux’ intuition was a tree in gold leaf and her name written in Ben’s careful lettering. Who would have guessed?

Reclining in the backseat of the town car, Hux supposed he should have expected it. There was just something about Ben - it had worked on Phasma, it had worked on Millicent, and it had worked on him - something he wasn’t even aware of, that made people fall in love with him. He now knew that it was strong enough that Ben didn’t have to be there physically in order for it to work, because Jessika had fallen victim to it just as surely. She’d never even met him and already she was demanding an increase in his pay. He snickered. Ben would get a kick out of that, once he told him, and Hux spent the rest of the car ride studying the sketch, marveling at it and all it had done. All _Ben_ had done, once again. It appeared the boy would never stop surprising him, though he should have been getting used to the way everything in his life responded to Ben’s touch by now.

\---

The response to his text to Ben didn’t come until Hux’ driver was opening his door for him in the parking garage below his apartment building. Hux dug into his pocket for his phone as soon as he felt the buzz, and when he opened the message, he was so stunned that he momentarily lost track of what he was doing and nearly ran face-first into the closed elevator doors before he skidded to a stop. It was a picture of Ben, taken in what Hux recognized as the mirror of their master bathroom. His face had been left out, though the ends of his hair, down past his chin now, were just visible, and he was wearing that dark navy three piece suit that had left Hux speechless at Thannison’s weeks before. A soft blueish grey shirt completed the ensemble, and Hux noted with no small appreciation that Ben had foregone wearing a tie - the top two buttons left open to expose the line of his neck and the slightest hint of his collarbones. Before Hux could compose himself from what he had seen, another message popped up under the photo.

**Is this okay? If it’s too much I can change, no probs! Didn’t know if I should wear a tie, sorry!**

_Sorry?_ If Ben had something to be sorry about, it was not that he had chosen not to wear a tie - it was that he had sent Hux what had to be the most tantalizing photo he’d ever received, and it was a damned mirror selfie taken at an odd angle, for god’s sake. Hux knew he wouldn’t be able to think of anything else for _weeks,_ and selfishly, he saved the photo to his images, so that he would have it available for further study later - when he didn’t have the real thing ready and waiting only an elevator ride away.

**No. No tie,** Hux typed - not quite a command, not quite a request - trusting autocorrect to catch the typos made in his haste. There was no time for anything more eloquent; he would tear the buttons of the shirt open himself, he swore, if Ben had tried to close them by the time he made it to his floor, and Hux didn’t want to have to do that. He _really_ liked that shirt.

The ride on the elevator seemed interminably long, Hux drumming his fingers, twitchy and as damp as his palm, along the wood of the handrail, his impatience growing with each floor that pinged past. He’d never before regretted how he’d petitioned for the top floor of the building, but right now, the penthouse seemed more a curse than a blessing, and when finally the doors slid open, he breathed a great sigh of relief and, had he been a man of less self-restraint, he would have made a run for his door and thrown himself against it.

Instead, he maintained, he had only walked with great speed.

Ben was on the other side when he opened it, obviously waiting for him - looking just this side of nervous, chewing his bottom with as much intent as if it was bubblegum, his hands stuffed into his pockets and his feet shuffling like he didn’t know what to do with him. He looked, somehow, even better in person, positively _edible_ as he gave Hux an unsure smile and removed a hand from his pocket to tug at the collar he had, thankfully, left open, so that Hux saw how he was flushing underneath. Hux knew without asking that Ben hadn’t sat down since he’d received his text, that he’d spent the time between now and then trying to make himself presentable - the texture of his hair, always soft-looking but moreso now than usual, suggested he’d blow-dryed it, as he sometimes did - and that, when he’d finished, he’d stood here and waited for Hux’ arrival, afraid of wrinkling his slacks. If only he knew what Hux would have done to them if given half the chance, he would not have been so worried about it.

“Ben, my love, the absolute light of my life,” he exclaimed, bothering only to drop his briefcase to the floor before planting his hands on either side of Ben’s face, “you’re a bloody genius, did you know that?” When Ben made an inarticulate noise of surprise, looking for a moment like he was about it deny it, Hux pulled him in for a bruising kiss, his fingers digging in behind Ben’s ears, at the fine hairs at the back of his neck, any further sounds Ben would have made muffled as Hux’ mouth clamped over his.

“Hux?” Ben managed once Hux finally let him go enough to draw a breath again. “What- what’s going on? What did I do? I don’t… just… what?” He blushed slightly at how breathless his voice sounded, and the broad grin on Hux’ face didn’t help matters much - he looked like a cat that just caught a mouse, and Ben didn’t quite know what to make of any of this. Sure, he’d never mind these random bouts of kissing that seemed to be a large part of his everyday routine nowadays, but sometimes he really wanted to know what caused them. Hux had called him a genius, but his mind came up short on any explanation as to why that was. He’d done something good, that much he figured, but what? When Hux had called during lunch, Ben had just managed to trim Millicent’s nails without her attempting to flay him - and Hux had been thoroughly impressed by that - but it hardly merited any of this. Hux went to kiss him again, but Ben dodged it - needing clarification while he still possessed some sort of brain functions. Hux’ kisses tended to leave him a bit… dazed.

“Y-you’re obviously happy,” he smiled shyly, as Hux covered his face in kisses - obviously not deterred by Ben’s little maneuver. “I mean, I like it, but… But, uhm, could- could you tell me what’s going on? I’m not sure I get it, and… why am I dressed up? Are we going somewhere?”

“Did I say a genius?” Hux asked, ignoring the litany of questions in favor of wrapping his arms around Ben’s waist and lifting him up off the floor to swing him around. “I meant a wonder. An absolute visionary!” Ben squeaked in surprise, clinging onto Hux as they spun and not letting go even when his feet touched the ground again.  

“Hux!” Ben protested, laughing, as he buried his face in the crook of Hux’ neck to stop the world from moving. “Stop! Y-you’re making me dizzy!” And Hux didn’t doubt that he was; his own head was spinning enough that he stumbled back a step, taking Ben with him.

“Ben, oh Ben - you’re not going to believe this.” Hux steadied the both of them before continuing. “This morning, after you fell back asleep - and please don’t hate me for this, I apologize for not asking your permission. I know it’s not how it should have been done, but I didn’t want to wake you, you were sleeping so peacefully.” Hux clasped Ben’s biceps, where he could just begin to feel the definition of muscles that hadn’t been there before, squaring them so that they were facing each other directly when Ben raised his head to look at him. Then, he took a deep breath, gathering the courage he hadn’t needed when he’d taken the sketches in the first place. “This morning, I took some of the sketches you left on the kitchen counter to the office with me to show to Jessika.”

Ben’s eyes widened at the revelation, becoming so great they took over half his face, the only sound in the apartment Ben’s gasp of disbelief as Hux’ mouth split into a shit-eating grin in answer.

“She loved them,” Hux told him, giving Ben’s arms a little shake, unable to hold in the news for even a moment longer. “We got the account, Ben; she signed with Imperial this afternoon, no questions asked. And it’s all because of you. _You_ did what an entire team of trained graphic artists couldn’t. What no one lacking even a shred of your skill and talent could have managed.” The joy spilled out from the seams of his words, and Hux pressed their lips together again, resulting in a little _oomph_ from Ben. “I’d say I could kiss you, but I just did, lucky bastard that I am!”

“I… _what_ ...?” Ben’s brain chose that moment to blank out completely, leaving him gaping like some sort of stranded fish. “I- You mean-? S-she liked my sketches? _Those_ sketches? The doodles I made while half asleep last night? I just… Are you serious?” How was that even possible? They weren’t even that good, and none of them had even been finished. They were just _doodles_ for fuck’s sake! How in the actual fuck had _this_ happened? The girl who’d been driving Hux and his poor design team up the walls for months… _that_ girl had decided on one of Ben’s silly little experiments? “I don’t even… I’m- I’m not mad, I promise. I just… I think I need to sit down. Fuck, I can’t even process this. _My_ sketches? She liked _my_ sketches?”

“Liked them? I’d say so! She was ready to throttle me for keeping them from her for so long!” Hux tightened his grip on Ben’s arms, holding him securely. “I can show you the contract, signature and all, if you’re looking for proof. Or how about the $200,000 check she handed over as soon as she’d signed it? Would that be enough to make you believe me?” Ben truly looked faint at that, his face losing color at the size of the number, as if the comment about needing to sit down was more than a joke, and Hux put an arm around his waist. “Oh no you don’t! You’re staying conscious long enough to enjoy this, love. No passing out now. You’re the man of the hour!”  

With an arm still tucked around Ben’s waist, he reached for the coat rack one-handed, unwinding the scarf Ben had left there after the walk Hux had taken him on at the start of the snowfall and threading it loosely around his neck. When Ben smiled back at him over plush cashmere, revealing a white sliver of his front tooth, Hux nodded his approval.

“Come on, Ben,” he said, and he felt half a child, a decade and a half shed off his life at least, as he pulled on the tail of the scarf, leading Ben in the direction of the door - barely giving him a chance to reach for his coat. “I’m taking you _out._ Tonight, the two of us are going to celebrate.”

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We apologize for the long wait for this update and appreciate you for sticking with us! Your lovely authors hope the length of chapter 15 made up for it at least a little. You can let us know how you feel about how Ben and Hux' life together is shaping up over on tumblr - as always, thegoodlannister for Cat and ficlet-machine for Loke.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter include: description of a flashback/panic attack, mentions of a past attempt at sexual assault, description of alcohol consumption.
> 
> Also, take note: there may be smut happening later in this chapter. Possibly.

_Daniel_ was one of those restaurants that Ben of course knew existed - if only because he’d spent most his life hearing Leia give Han absolute hell for never taking her to them - but not one he’d ever thought he’d actually visit himself. They had taken the town car, the sleek silver coloured one, and Ben had never felt more like some sort of movie star than he did when he noticed the reactions they got from people outside it as he stepped out of the car, and Hux offered him his arm in one of those signature gentlemanly gestures of his. People looked at them - really _looked_ \- and Ben could practically feel the awe radiating from them as Hux led him to the doors. It didn’t surprise him as such; Hux had that effect on a lot of people, but it was slightly more obvious now. Of course, it never occurred to him that people could be looking at him too. He was too busy trying not to trip on his own feet, or blush, or just do anything even remotely embarrassing at all.

He felt a little out of his depth, even though he knew that he was fairly well educated on the subject of how to behave in finer settings - Leia had made damn sure Ben could conduct himself in a manner befitting a member of the higher spheres of society she hoped to one day gain access to. Ben was her tool for getting there, and he knew part of why he’d always been dragged along to her luncheons and stuff was because Leia was hoping to set him up with some nice, rich girl, who could serve as their way into the status she’d always believed they deserved. It was one of the many reasons why she hated Ben’s sexuality so much: he would never look at any girl with even faked interest, and she refused to even entertain the notion of him meeting a nice, upper-class boy - because that would mean she’d have to accept his ‘unnatural, disgusting sexual preferences’, and she’d rather die than do that. So, instead she drilled him in perfect manners, in hopes of squeezing whatever bragging points she could out of him, and, failing that, at least dragging him along to have something to complain about in a setting where she knew she’d have everyone on her side.

The thought of embarrassing Hux in public was somehow scarier than the memories of Leia’s punishments when she thought he’d fucked up - albeit for very different reasons. Ben knew he was awkward, and he knew he didn’t do so well around people when he was depressed, and he didn’t want to give anyone _any_ reason to gossip about Ethan Hux and that nutcase he’d been seen dragging around in public. He didn’t want Hux’ reputation to be so much as scratched, and especially not because of _him._ But at the same time as he was scared to death about somehow fucking everything up, he also felt safer knowing that even if he did, Hux would help him through it. He wouldn’t yell at Ben in front of the whole restaurant, wouldn’t mock him for crying if he got upset, wouldn’t use it as a weapon and an exhibit A of how useless he was for months on end. Hux would hold him, would have the car brought around to take them home to safety again, would keep him close until Ben had calmed down as much as he was able to. While he didn’t always understand all of Ben’s triggers and hang-ups, he at least tried - which was more than could be said about most other people in Ben’s life before. Hux never questioned, or asked Ben to give a reason for why he felt what he felt, and that knowledge was what helped Ben get as steady a grip on himself as he could and actually go out for dinner with Hux.

An actual dinner, just the two of them, to celebrate - a proper, romantic dinner date. _In public._ Hux actually wanted to be seen with Ben in public - seemed _proud_ to be, even - and it made Ben so happy he could barely breathe.

As they stepped inside, it occurred to Ben that they didn’t have a reservation - at least not as far as he knew - but it was apparently not a problem. He didn’t quite know why he even thought it would be. Because the headwaiter only made it through half the inquiry about those reservations before it seemed to dawn on him just who it was that was standing in front of him, and his mouth snapped shut so hard Ben could hear it. He immediately straightened up, giving them the most welcoming smile Ben had ever seen from anyone working in a finer restaurant, and motioning for another member of the staff to help them with their coats.

“Mr Hux,” he greeted, positively beaming. “What an honour to have you with us tonight. How may I help you?”

“A table for two, please.” Hux said, with that relaxed sort of confidence that Ben envied - not a hint of a doubt about whether people would do what he told them to. “Preferably somewhere quiet; my partner is a very private person, and this is a special occasion for the two of us, so a little special attention wouldn’t be out of place.”

The head waiter nodded enthusiastically, quickly checking something on the small screen in front of him.

“Of course, sir,” he assured them. “Our Skybox is available for this entire evening - privacy is guaranteed, and the only noise you will be subjected to is the kitchen, as the Skybox is situated directly above it. Would that suit your plans for the evening?”

“That sounds ideal,” Hux agreed. “My partner is something of a chef himself, and I imagine he’ll enjoy having a view of the proceedings in the kitchen - won’t you, Ben?” He smiled in Ben’s direction, tucking his elbow against his side. “On that note - what should I call you, my good man, and what can I do to be assured that it’s you who’ll be taking care of us for the rest of the evening?” When the black-suited man introduced himself as Owen and assured the both of them that simply being a patron of Hux’ status was enough to ensure that he’d be the only one visiting their table tonight, Hux gave a pleased nod and, with the hand that wasn’t curled around Ben’s elbow, removed a one hundred dollar bill from the front pocket of his suit jacket. The motion was so discreet that Ben only noticed it because Hux was standing so close to him, but the waiter recognized the ritual for what it was even before Hux tucked the bill into his palm, the brightness of his smile ratcheting up another notch.  

“Well, now that that troublesome little matter is settled -” Satisfied with Owen’s response, Hux patted Ben’s arm once the money had been exchanged. “You should know that it’s my partner we’re celebrating tonight, and as such, whatever he requests for as long as we’re under your care, it’s your job to see that he gets it. When in doubt, treat him as you would me; it’s _his_ celebration, after all.” He leaned into the man’s space and lowered his voice, clearly expecting to be heard, even above the commotion of the restaurant’s main seating area. “If you were responsible for other tables before this, there are a multitude of well-trained servers who I have no doubt are perfectly capable of providing them with the service they require. Ben should be your _first_ priority. For tonight, you work for us. That sounds perfectly reasonable, yes?”

With the one hundred dollar bill in hand and the unspoken promise that there would be more where that came from, the waiter was happy to oblige, straightening his bowtie and leading the two of them through dining rooms filled with people, smaller rooms tucked away off to the side where Ben caught glimpses of diners who looked like Hux, well-dressed and even more well-mannered, speaking in hushed tones under candlelight, the movements of their hands the only clue Ben had as to what they might be talking about, until they reached a set of stairs that appeared to lead nowhere anyone who wasn’t an employee should be allowed to go.  

It didn’t make sense. Certainly Ben and Hux would dine in one of the rooms they’d just passed - except then, the waiter who’d introduced himself as Owen stepped aside, and they were ushered _up it._

The Skybox was private, indeed. There was only one table, and it didn’t look like it would fit more than maybe four people. The entire wall on one side of the room was glass - the bustling kitchen just below it provided a fascinating show, and Ben was glad to find that the noise levels weren’t too loud for him either. He’d still be able to focus on Hux, and be able to enjoy their dinner without being stressed out by the sounds coming from below them. The fact that there were curtains they could close to further shut the noise out was also a huge relief for Ben, because he knew that even though he didn’t mind it right now, it could suddenly be too much for him an hour from now, and he really didn’t want to have to cut this short just because he got hit with sensory overload. It happened often enough as it was, and Ben really wanted to have fun for once in his sorry excuse for a life.

But he’d be lying to himself if he’d pretended he wasn’t a bit… well, _shocked_ , by how Hux could just saunter into this high-end place, demand a private table, then steal not just any waiter in the house, but the actual fucking _head waiter_ , like it was no big deal. And not only that, but actually getting away with it, too! Sure, Ben knew that money did come with certain advantages, but until he met Hux he had genuinely thought those advantages were limited to actors, rock stars, royalties - _that_ kind of rich people. Celebrities. Hux was in _marketing_ for fuck’s sake! Okay, sure, he was a billionaire - Ben knew that, too - but he hadn’t actually realized that Hux would be this well known outside that particular sphere. Silently thanking the pretty damn great poker face he’d developed thanks to Leia’s sadistic training all his life, he managed to look calm and relaxed until the second the waiter had left them alone to decide on their choice of drinks and starters. But as soon as the door had closed behind the man, Ben dropped the pretense, and just stared at his contentedly smiling partner across the table.

“You...” he began, still reeling a little. “Hux, you _stole_ the head waiter. You actually just stole the guy who manages the tables for this whole place, to have him tend to us only. What. The _fuck_. Can you even _do_ that?”

Hux sipped at the water that had already been placed at their table - it was waiting for them, carefully sliced wedges of lemon peeking over the sides of each of their glasses. “It appears I just did,” he said as he plucked the lemon wedge from his glass and squeezed it. The water was just the right temperature, the glass dewey with condensation in the warm glow from the kitchen, and Hux grinned. He knew he was showing off a little, but he couldn’t help it. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was how to pick a good restaurant. Perhaps he’d never be able to whip up the kind of home-cooked meal Ben could, but _this_ he could do. And this was safer than the car ride had been. Nothing short of Ben choking on a piece of bread would ruin this; he was all but guaranteed not to fuck this up.  

Hux hadn’t even finished the thought before he flinched; he was better off not tempting fate, and had the table not been glass-topped and the legs finished with chrome, he wouldn’t have been above knocking on wood.

Ben looked radiant tonight; he was flush and smiling, the silver bangle, Hux noted, still on his wrist when he rolled his sleeve up before picking up the smallest of the forks to inspect his reflection in the polished metal, snickering at the way it distorted his face. The first time he’d seen Ben in this ensemble, he’d near wanted to propose to him then and there, though he hadn’t allowed himself to think on it at the time. It looked even better now; Thannison had tailored it perfectly, had done the work himself, he’d told Hux, rather than assigning the suit to one of his apprentices, as he did most simple garment adjustments, and the quality of the work was obvious. The jacket fit across his shoulders so that it didn’t pull even when he lifted one of his hands to run it through his hair, pushing his bangs out of his eyes, a habit he must have picked up from Phasma, Hux thought fondly, as Ben leaned up and out of his seat to look more closely at the goings-on in the kitchen below. That _did_ cause a bit of a pull, but only of the slacks where they hugged the curve of his ass, and Hux leaned sideways out of his own seat, eyebrows raised in appreciation, to steal a glance that he hoped Ben would be too engrossed with what was taking place in the kitchen to notice.

“Quite a view, isn’t it?” Hux chuckled, knowing Ben was oblivious to the double meaning. “I’ll bet you can’t complain about what I just did now, can you? I like to think of it as a little perk of the job - like having Mitaka to fetch my coffee, or a doorman that knows what floor my office is on without having to ask.” His eyes flickered to what had Ben so entranced - a man in a tall, white chef’s hat, one that could have been a movie prop it was so unnecessarily large, tossing something that threw up fire in a frying pan heated to the the point where it glowed red - then immediately returned to the object of his own interest. Hux liked the mechanics of cooking well enough; he still wasn’t a chef by any means, and it fascinated him to see his favorite dishes come together in parts. He’d always liked knowing how things were made, food included, the familiar sounds of the kitchen drifting up from below: pots clinking merrily, the muffled _whir_ of a meringue being whipped, the chop of a knife on a butcher’s block as a rack of ribs was split. When he ventured another glance, a fish was losing its head to the cause, removed with one fell swoop, and impressed with the display, Hux let out a low whistle.

He was glad he’d chosen this place; there were few venues in the city where they would find a show Ben enjoyed as much as this, but he much preferred the view _across_ from him, his eyes again drawn back to Thannison’s handiwork and what was hiding beneath it, this time to the line of Ben’s inseam, leaning over the table as he was. _Thannison, I don’t know whether to praise you or to damn you_. Dry-mouthed and reaching for his water again, he shook his head. It was as if the man had known that eventually Ben would fill out a little, a few pounds here and there, as if he’d left room where room was needed so that when muscle and flesh began to find their way onto Ben’s bones, it would already have a home in the hollows that had been left. How he had known just where that would be, the shapes Ben’s body would take as it was healing, Hux would be damned if he knew, but he was grateful just the same. Especially for the careful way the slacks had been cut to follow the line of Ben’s inner thigh.

And perhaps it was a good thing that their table was so private, wasn’t it? Because this may _not_ have been the place to admire his partner’s crotch. Ben was just so _handsome,_ and really, this was at least half Thannison’s fault, Hux thought, pushing the other glass of water in Ben’s direction and clearing his throat. And he had thought the man his _friend_.

“You do like it though, don’t you?” Hux asked. On the glass tabletop, he placed his hand over Ben’s, Ben looking riveted as he watched a flour-coated man knead a ball of dough into submission. “I _am_ capable of using my influence for good sometimes. It looks like the kitchen is putting on a show just for you.”

Ben tore his eyes away from the fascinating scene below, giving Hux a beaming smile.

“I love it!” he assured him, allowing their fingers to intertwine - Hux’ thumb rubbing gently over his scarred knuckle. “I, uhm, I’ve never really… uhm, this probably sounds really sad to you, but I’ve never actually, you know, been to a place _this_ high-end. Uhm, it’s not like I’ve never been to nice places before! I have. More often than I would’ve liked, but never, uhm, never on a _date_ or anything. I… thank you. I really like this place. And, uhm...” He blushed a little, looking down and biting his lip before glancing up at Hux through his lashes. “I like this table. I like that there’s no one else here - just, you know, _us_.”

It came out way more suggestive than he’d intended, but there was nothing for it now - and besides, the way his words made Hux swallow hard, a blush creeping up his cheeks, made it worth it.

“That was entirely the point,” Hux whispered, though there was no one there to hear him in the privacy of the Skybox, even the frantic bustling of the kitchen visible only through the pane of glass. “I have no intentions of sharing you tonight.” He gave Ben a wicked twist of his lips, interlocking his fingers through Ben’s, so that their hands were joined on the table, next to a vase of fresh cut wildflowers Hux knew wouldn’t grow in New York for another three months at least. “Even Owen here had better be on his best behavior - if he looks at you a little too long, I might be forced to defend your honor.” The words were a joke, of course, and Hux winked exaggeratedly, getting an embarrassed giggle out of Ben, his eyes returning to the scene below, though they both knew that he’d scraped his knuckles raw for less. While Hux could talk his way from a fight more effectively than he could punch his way out, he didn’t trust his temper to remember that if ever the day came that someone _did_ say the wrong thing about Ben.

When Owen returned to their table, the smile he gave Ben was perfectly innocent, luckily for the both of them, though he tended to him before and with more care than he did Hux, crouching down on Ben’s level while he explained the chef’s specialties for the evening and looking impressed when Ben questioned where the leeks in the sea scallop confit had been sourced. Something Hux approved of, if only because Ben’s stammering lessened after that, and before long, the two were chatting like old friends, sharing trade secrets, Ben blooming as he tended to do - a spring-sweet bud unfurling as surely as those in the fluted vase on their table - whenever he felt comfortable. It appeared Owen was falling into Ben’s trap with as little resistance as anyone else, tapping his chin in thought when Ben asked him whether the red fruit compote included raspberries and, if it didn’t, would the chef consider adding them, as they might not have been in season, but he was certain they had ways of getting their hands on batches that were good and ripe, even at this time of year.

While Hux was familiar with the lead chef and had it on good authority that he was rarely open to menu alterations, Owen had come back to the table with good news and had brought with him a spoonful of the altered compote for Ben to taste to see if it was to his liking, hardly sparing Hux a glance as he did so, instead focused attentively on the way Ben’s eyelashes brushed his cheeks as he licked the spoon clean. Hux smiled down at the napkin he’d folded over his lap, his own eyes crinkling, running his fingers over it until it was free of wrinkles, and didn’t waste a moment in ordering a round of the lychee rose gelee that it accompanied for their dessert.  

“A toast,” he suggested, after that, when Owen was again crouched on Ben’s side of the table, balancing the wine list on his knee to use as a makeshift writing surface for his notepad. “To Ben, and to the talent that was previously being wasted down in my administrative department.” Ben looked shocked at that, sputtering on the sip of water he’d just taken and shaking his head in refusal, but Hux carried on as if he didn’t see the display at all. “We’ll need champagne, of course, for it to be a proper toast. Something-”

“Oh, might I recommend the _Krug Grand Cuvee?”_ Owen interrupted, pen already scribbling it down on the notepad. “We have a bottle on reserve in the cellar, and you won’t find notes of creme like this in any other champagne available in the city. It’s absolutely one of a kind-”

Hux cleared his throat pointedly.

“ _Notes of creme_ , my ass,” he scoffed, and Ben looked as if he might drop from his chair then and there, eyes going wide and round. Perhaps he should have thought before he’d spoken, but there was little Hux disliked more than being interrupted. The only thing he could think of that he disliked more, in fact, was being told what we wanted. “You’ll forgive me, Owen.” He smiled apologetically, disentangling his hand from Ben’s to motion for the wine list, which hadn’t yet been offered, curling his fingers, and the waiter handed it over with a flinch that suggested he half expected Hux to rap him on the knuckles with a ruler. “But I know my way around a bottle of champagne. I think we’re both aware that _Krug Grand Cuvee_ is as dry as the Sahara. It’s a _brut_ , for cripe’s sake; they all are. And while that might be enough to satisfy most of your clientele, let’s not pretend that means it tastes good. I prefer to actually _enjoy_ my champagne. A novel concept, I know - but I’m of the mind that one’s choice in drink should have more to do with personal taste than with some absurd notion of the status it indicates.”

In truth, Hux didn’t mind a dry champagne; god knew he’d drunk enough of them while at galas and cocktail gatherings, every guest in competition to one-up the next, naming their various charity contributions from throughout the year while Hux stifled yawns into his fist, but when left to his own devices, he would rather something sweeter. It was the same with coffee. His sweet tooth would be his downfall one day, he predicted, but it would have nothing to do with whether a damned _waiter_ judged his taste and found it wanting - or whether anyone else did, for that matter. Hux’ position was such that he didn’t have to give two shits what anyone thought of the kind of champagne he preferred. He had no pretense to keep, no need for symbols of status; he’d drink what he liked because he liked it, and that was that. The only person whose opinion mattered was Ben, and while he’d never inquired over Ben’s taste in champagne, he couldn’t imagine that Ben would enjoy the dry stuff any more than he did.

Hux flipped through the wine list until he reached the last page, where the champagnes were listed, increasing in price from the top of the page to the bottom. “Have you ever tried a rosé champagne, Ben?” he asked, ignoring Owen’s presence at the side of their table entirely, his finger pausing on a selection that interested him - middling in price, nothing too extravagant, but that he knew had a dangerously easy to drink flavor that reminded him of black licorice and overripe berries, with just a hint of something floral. It seemed like something that would pique Ben’s interest, from what he knew of his tastes, as well as something that hinted at what would be the grand finale of their meal, the lychee gelee with compote. A solid choice, Hux thought.

“Uhm, not that I can remember, no.” Ben ran a hand through his hair, smiling apologetically. “But if you say it’s good, I trust you. Apart from those California rolls you tried to feed me, everything you’ve said was good did taste amazing.”

He wasn’t a stranger to champagne, but most of his experiences had been with those godawful dry ones, because Leia always insisted on it. _For the status_. And a small part of Ben’s increasingly rebellious mind was practically doing a little victory dance at Hux’ comment. What was the point of buying super expensive champagne if the stuff wasn’t drinkable anyway? His parents were accountants, but still it seemed that it had never struck either of them that buying a bottle of fancy champagne, of which at least half would inevitably go down the drain - quite literally - was a rather shitty thing to spend money on. Ben might not be able to put numbers together to save his life, but he still seemed to have a better grip on what counted as a justifiable expense and what didn’t.

“Well, Owen seems to have his doubts,” Hux said, one side of his mouth quirking up conspiratorily as he cupped his hand around it, as if confiding some great secret. “But I say we chance being the laughing stock of the city and order it. If the champagne connoisseurs come after us with pitchforks and flaming torches, we can always claim ignorance.  That way they can’t hold it against us too terribly - poor, unsophisticated souls that we are.” When Ben’s eyes met Hux’ across the table, his lips were pressed together, barely holding in a laugh that threatened to escape, and Hux had to bite the inside of the cheek to keep from giving them away. They couldn’t let Owen off _too_ easily, after all. “What do you think, Ben? Is the risk worth it?”

“I’m willing to chance it if you are.” The words were flavored by Ben’s smile, by turns as spicy and sweet as the red wine that would follow the champagne. “Worst case scenario we’ll just have to escape out back, and go barricade ourselves at home. The elevators look like they should be torch-and-pitchfork proof.” He gave a nonchalant twist of his shoulders, and Hux felt a burst of pride at his cheek. It was near as good as Phasma’s and getting better all the time.  Hux had recognized it from the first, when Ben had been a bloody mess in a hospital bed, too terrified to recognize it in himself, and for as much as he savored mocking someone who couldn’t be certain they were being mocked, even alone, it was all the sweeter with Ben as his partner in crime.

“You heard my partner,” he said with a snap of his fingers while Ben looked studiously at the embellished _‘D’_ that had been embroidered into the red leather cover of the wine list in an attempt to compose himself, though the way the candlelight danced in his eyes would have been enough to betray them both, had Owen seen. “A bottle of the _Nyetimber R_ _osé_ for the table. Well-chilled, I don’t want it to taste like it’s been sitting out for the better part of an hour. We don’t need another reason to call the crowd with the pitchforks.”

Owen had barely hit the stairs before Ben’s shoulders were shaking with silent laughter and, by the time Hux heard the soles of his polished dress shoes on the last step, he was unable to contain it, burying his face in his hands to muffle the stilted lilt of his laugh. When Ben _really_ laughed, it happened in short, staccato bursts that sounded more like the word _‘ha’_ being spoken than any Hux had ever heard. That got Hux chuckling too, snorting water up into his nose when he tried to hide it in his glass, which set his eyes to watering, which in turn set Ben to laughing more - hiccuping gulps of air interspersed with exclamations of _“Hux!”_ that failed utterly in sounding offended, all of which continued until Owen reappeared, rosé tucked in the crook of his arm and a towel thrown over the opposite shoulder. At the sight, Hux schooled his face into a serious expression, drawing his finger over his lips, then throwing away an imaginary key as Owen set up a bucket of ice and popped the cork, the champagne steaming in the warmth trapped above the kitchen.

_“Nyetimber R_ _osé,_ vintage 2009,” he announced as he poured; it appeared Owen had taken his request of serving the rosé appropriately chilled to heart, and he offered Hux the first taste, to ensure it was to his liking.

At the first kiss of champagne against his lips, Hux hummed his appreciation. The fizz of the bubbles was pleasant on his tongue - a familiar friend that tended to visit in times of triumph - the flavor rounded and smooth, balanced between the bite of berries picked before the peak of their sweetness and the velvety spice of anise so that even the small swallow he’d taken expanded to fill his entire mouth, and Hux swished it twice before swallowing, finally allowing Owen a genuine, if reserved, smile.

“This will do nicely, Owen - thank you,” he said, slipping another one hundred dollar bill into the man’s palm for all the trouble he and Ben had put him through, then bid Owen leave them while they toasted privately. Hux filled Ben’s glass after he filled his own, tilting it expertly so that the bubbles rose to the surface at the perfect speed, then took it by the stem and held it up between them, watching as the light that still danced in Ben’s eyes danced in the effervescent pink of the champagne as well. “Ben.” He tipped the glass, using it to gesture to his partner, smiling widely. “I couldn’t be prouder of you - of what you’ve accomplished for Imperial. I meant what I said - if only I’d known what I was hiding in my administrative department all this time, who can say how much more success my firm would have known for it? What a waste. Whoever missed your genius and thought to tuck you away down there was a damned fool, and I should see them fired for it.” When he extended the champagne in offering, Hux inclined his head in Ben’s direction as well, their fingers brushing on the delicate stem of the glass.

“But no more talk of missed opportunity. You’re here now, tonight, with me - exactly where you should be, and it doesn’t end after this meal. When we’re done here, I’m the lucky man who gets to take you home - so tonight, darling? Tonight, we celebrate.” Fingers still atop Ben’s on the flute of champagne, he leaned across the table, navigating around the vase of wildflowers to press a kiss to Ben’s cheek.

Ben froze, unable to stop it from happening. He knew, logically, where he was, and who he was with - he was with Hux, his partner, at _Daniel_ , a high-end restaurant - but something was off. Some minor little thing in Hux’ words, or maybe his gesture, just.. _something_ , and suddenly Hux’ voice wasn’t _Hux’_ voice, and his hand on Ben’s wasn’t _his_ hand, and the kiss to his cheek was not good, not welcome, _not safe_. Every muscle in his body tensed up, as if from a distance - like it wasn’t happening to him - he felt the table shake a little with the motion as he put the glass down hard and gripped the edge of it, as if to ground himself in the here and now. His heart skipped a beat, and then started pounding, hard, beneath his ribs, lungs constricting, and he started feeling dizzy, pale, nauseous, as his brain sent a barrage of memories and images at him. Another place, another “date,” another hand on his, and another man’s voice in his ear, whispering intentions and oily words into his ear as Ben felt himself lose all control of his body.

And he’d honestly thought it hadn’t affected him much, that night at _Eden_. But, of course, life was as always a fucking bitch, and chose now of all times to remind him.

The world around him blurred, swam in and out of focus, everything sounded like it came from somewhere else, somewhere far away, as if Ben heard it through a metal pipe or something, and he thought that maybe Hux was saying something to him - his hair and beard mostly a bright orange blob somewhere at the corner of his vision - but it just sounded like a garbled mess. He needed to get himself under control, needed to stop this, needed to _not fucking ruin everything for once in his fucking life_ , and- And he really needed to try and breathe. This wasn’t the worst panic attack, flashback, whatever it was, that he’d ever been through - but it could be if he didn’t get a grip on the situation.

The orangeness that was Hux moved out of his vision for a moment, his voice coming around the table, and then Ben felt a weight in the seat next to him, and those arms, that were the safest haven in the world, were gently wrapping themselves around his shoulders, and he was cradled against a warm chest. _Hux’ chest_. As panicked as it was, his brain knew that scent - had developed a damn near pavlovian response to it - and as his hand was guided to sit against that chest, to follow the slow rhythm of inhales and exhales, Ben’s brain found that oh so important shred of reality to cling to. Hux’ scent soothed him, and the way Hux had stopped speaking - focusing only on helping Ben stay somewhat upright so he could mimic Hux’ breathing pattern without being stressed out more by feeling like he needed to communicate verbally in the middle of this whole mess too - gave him something to work with.

As Ben had first folded in on himself, nearly shattering the glass when he wrenched it from Hux’ grip, Hux had immediately leaped from his chair, asking him what was wrong, his eyes scanning the stairs for any sign of Owen’s return. Did he need to leave, should he get him a drink of water, was Ben worried Owen would see him like this, did he want to be touched or should he keep his hands to himself - but Hux was not the stranger he had once been to Ben’s panic attacks. They no longer left him hovering, frozen and helpless, pouring out questions Ben didn’t have the words to answer anyway; below the momentary panic, the motion of pulling Ben to his chest and cupping the back of his head felt practiced. He could have found the spot behind Ben’s ear where he liked best to be touched from memory, and he drew in exaggerated breaths, counting the beats in his head before releasing them, the measured way his chest rose and fell - the cage of his ribs expanding with each inhale and then sinking with each exhale - giving Ben a rhythm he could match.  

Hux had never paid so much attention to the space between his breaths as when Ben’s hand rested over his sternum, plucking at the buttons of his shirt - not even during his brief stint with yoga. If truly he’d wanted to practice mindful breathing, he thought, he should have taken this up years ago, the sounds of the kitchen fading out to be replaced by the shuddering puffs of air against his neck, slower now, Ben no longer as close to hyperventilating as he had been. A little of the champagne had sloshed over the side of the flute to pool on the glass-top table, the napkin from Hux’ lap having found its way onto the floor in his haste. Once Ben recovered enough to feel anything beyond fear, it would be important to him that the mess wasn’t left for Owen to find, and with one hand still cradling Ben’s skull, Hux reached with the other to mop up the spill, the pink of the champagne spreading out over the ivory cloth of Ben’s napkin as soon as they touched.

“You’re alright,” Hux promised, opening his mouth again now that Ben seemed more in a state to hear him. “You’re safe here, with me. It’s alright.” When the spill threatening to drip over the edge of the table and onto the floor had been cleared away, Hux went to work on the one of Ben’s hands that wasn’t knotted in his shirt. This one was balled into a tight fist, bitten-down nails - he’d been working hard to break the habit, but Hux knew it didn’t come easily to him - cutting into his palm, the scars over his knuckles, from the day Hux had first met him, gone white, and Hux soothed a thumb over the uneven bumps, humming. “The flowers on the table are beautiful, aren’t they?” he said, conversationally, as if he was observing the weather. “I imagine they had them put here especially for the two of us, when they learned it was you and I who’d be dining up here this evening. I didn’t see flowers on any of the other tables when we walked by, did you?” He didn’t wait for an answer, the motion of his thumb over Ben’s knuckles not missing a beat.

“Can you imagine that, Ben? They did that just for you - because you were going to be eating here. And the _view_ \- would you look at that? I bet there isn’t a better view of the kitchen in a five-star Michelin restaurant in the whole city. It’s one of a kind; there’s no doubt about that. It’s like we’re right inside of the action.” He let go of Ben’s hand to point through the pane of glass, into the kitchen itself. “Why, that man with the rabbit looks ridiculous, doesn’t he? There’s no need for a hat of that size - we all know he’s a chef. It really _is_ a bit much. But he’s handling that knife quite masterfully, I’ll give him that. I’m sure there’s a name for that kind of knife - you know, the big one meant for chopping - but damned if I remember it. You’ll have to tell me it later, when you’re feeling better, alright? Because now I’ve gone and gotten myself curious about it.”

With each word, Ben seemed to unfurl against him, the tension draining from the fingers that held onto his shirt until they were loose and limp, his head falling against Hux’s chest with a dull thunk, and Hux took that as his cue to stop the stream of words that he’d let fall unchecked from his lips. Silly things, meaningless phrases, but ones that helped to remind Ben where and when he was, Hux safeguarding those truths for him until he could hold onto them for himself. Hux didn’t know how much good it did either of them, but when there was nothing else he could offer, he had least had his words.

When Ben let out a sigh, shaky and so deep that his whole body sagged with it, relaxing boneless into Hux’ hold, Hux brushed his hair back from his face, searching his eyes. They  were still a little teary, but otherwise clear.

“There you are, darling,” he whispered, grateful for the recognition he saw in Ben’s face. Had he said losing Ben to moments like this didn’t terrify him, he would have been lying - but the look Ben gave him when he came back to himself to discover Hux still at his side was enough to ensure he’d never be anywhere else. “It’s nice to have you back with us.” He smoothed his palm over Ben’s hair again and offered him the glass of water, encouraging him to take a careful sip. “Are you feeling a little better now? Enough that you think you can tell me what happened so we don’t do it again?”

Ben took a few careful sips of the water before trying to speak.

“I-I’m sorry,” he stuttered. “I d-didn’t mean to… I mean, I’m sorry for fucking things up when in public, I just… I couldn’t stop it. I’m sorry.”

“Hey now,” Hux soothed, a finger under his chin, tilting his face up. “No apologies - not to me. We’ve talked about this. Both of us know you can’t control these things, and I don’t expect you to. I only want to know what happened, if you can tell me, so I can be sure not to repeat it.  That’s all.”

“I just...” Ben bit his lip. “Uhm, it’s nothing, really. Or, well, it’s just, uhm, just _stupid_. I-I didn’t think it would, uhm, affect me this much. To be honest, I’d, uhm, nearly forgotten about it, but… Uhm, do you know a club called _Eden_?” Hux nodded, and Ben paused to drink a little more water before continuing. “I dunno if you’ve ever been there - it doesn’t seem like the place you’d hang out - but anyway, I used to go there sometimes. Before. Whenever I, uhm… whenever I could come up with an excuse that would let me leave the house for a few hours. I used to go there to… well, to… you know. Hook up.” He let out a bitter chuckle.

“It’s so fucking sad, I know, but for years that was… That was the only time and place where I could be _me_ . I’ve never- Uhm, my family’s _not_ okay with me being gay. Not even a little bit. If I’d have dated someone and they’d found out, they would have thrown me out. Or worse. But I could go there sometimes to, uhm, well... to not be alone for a little while? Just find someone out for a quick shag or whatever, and pretend it was enough. And last time I went there, a few weeks before, you know, that happened - I went there, and there was this guy. He was older than me, pretty handsome, and he seemed nice, you know? He looked at me like I was actually attractive, and we talked for a while - you know, like you do - and somehow he persuaded me to have a beer. I didn’t drink back then either, because of my meds, but he persuaded me to have just the one beer. But, uhm...” He trailed off, a shudder running through him, and he could feel in his very core how much he didn’t want to talk about this right now. He just didn’t want to be _‘Ben, the sad story_ ’ right now. Not here. Not tonight. “Long story short, he put something in my beer, and it would’ve ended badly had the bartender not come by just as I was trying to get away. Guess it got to me more than I thought.”

He gave a little shrug, one corner of his mouth twisting up in what he hoped was some sort of smile, and tried to ignore the horrified look on Hux’ face.

“Someone tried to-?” Heat surged to Hux’ face, his vision narrowing, and he pulled his hand back from Ben’s chin as it tightened into a fist, the kind that urged to punch something. _Someone,_ had the target of his rage been in reachable distance. Instead, it sat at his side, itching and impotent. “I’ll throttle the bastard! Did you contact the authorities? Has he been arrested? He had better hope so, or I’ll kill him myself. There won’t be a corner of this city nondescript enough to hide him.” Earlier, over lemoned water, the promise that he would work a man over in Ben’s defense had been said in jest, but Hux had rarely meant anything more than he meant what he said right now. He had once laid a man out for insulting his watch - true, he’d had more to drink than he ought at the time, but even as sober as the day he was born, he’d do worse to the person who dared to touch Ben with anything with less than reverence. A few glasses into this bottle of _r_ _osé,_ and who could say what he might do?  “I might not look like much of a fighter, Ben, but I swear, he’ll never know what hit him.”  

He would have said more - would have elaborated on what exactly the bastard who’d hurt Ben deserved - but when he looked at Ben, the look of disbelieving relief that had been on his face upon first realizing that Hux had stayed with him through everything had been replaced by one… not quite of fear, but of something Hux never wanted to inspire in him again. Hux wouldn’t have gone so far as to call it distrust, but something in his posture looked _wary_ of the violence Hux promised, pulling back into his seat as Hux pulled away from him, his arms coming up to wrap around his shoulders and hang on tight, just the way they had that first night, when Hux and Phasma had argued like spoiled children in front of him.

Hux may have been a genius, but he didn’t need to be for him to know that, yet again, he’d said the wrong thing. Perhaps _he_ wanted to swear bloody murder to a stranger he’d never laid eyes on, but it was Ben who was right here. Ben who needed him - who needed his _partner,_ not someone promising more of the violence Hux suspected he’d already seen too much of.

“I-” Hux uncurled his fist and raised his palms in front of him, so Ben could see both of his hands. “I-I’m sorry, Ben. That didn’t help, did it?” Ben didn’t say anything in response, still chewing the hell out of his lip, but he didn’t have to. Hux already knew the answer. “Then tell me what I can do that _will_. _Please_. Help me say the right thing.”

“I just...” Ben began, but then hesitated. “I know you, uhm, want to know what happened and all. I can’t really, you know, guarantee it won’t suddenly happen again because of what happened then, and I really appreciate that you want to stand up for me - really, I _do_ \- but I just… Can we, uhm… can we talk about this tomorrow or something?” He scratched his neck awkwardly, only daring to glance at Hux through the corner of his eye.

“I think that, uhm, that I might actually _need_ to talk about it, but I- I just can’t right now. _Please_ , Hux? I just need to not be _‘Ben with the tragic backstory’_ tonight. Okay? I want to have a nice date with my partner, and I want to try this food, and whatever wine you think I’ll like, and I want to share dessert with you, and maybe even get a little tipsy, and just… just have _fun_ for once. I just want to be _Ben_. Ben, out on a date with Hux. That’s what I need.”

And, as always when he asked for something, he felt his cheeks heat up as guilt and shame - in one nauseating mix - hit him like Han’s fist to his face, and he fiddled anxiously with his bracelet while still avoiding Hux’ gaze. He’d had enough experiences of asking to talk about stuff later only to be accused of running away from his problems, of avoiding them, of ruining everyone else’s evening and then not taking responsibility for it, to dare trust even the man he loved not to do the same. Other people could ask for things, but Ben Solo didn’t have the right - he’d had 25 years to learn that, and _God it was so hard to unlearn it now_. Any time he asked Hux for anything, he felt so selfish, so greedy, so spoiled and… so _ungrateful_. How dare he ask for even more things when Hux had already given him so much? How dare he even imply that Hux’ little tirade might not have been what he needed to hear? He should be more grateful, should know his place, _should know better_.

“Well, sweetling, who have I ever been to deny you?” Ben always asked for so little. He could have asked for anything in Hux’ reach - and what _wasn’t_ in Hux’ reach? - could have made any request, and Hux would have seen it fulfilled. A hundred bangles like that one that he wore. Finer, more costly bracelets than that. Those from Tiffany’s or Cartier, with price tags to match. But instead, all Ben wanted was… _this._ Hux. The two of them here, together. It didn’t make sense, but he wouldn’t question it, because neither did he want anything more than to be Hux - _Ethan_ Hux, a name that he once would have said had never quite fit - out on a date with Ben.

He reached for the wine list again, knocking their shoulders together, casual. God help him if Hux ever came upon the poor bastard who would have hurt Ben, but for tonight, Hux’ rage was put aside. There were more important things, and he paged through until he found the list of sweet reds, tucking Ben in against his side, the two of them now sat on the same side of the table.

They hadn’t touched the champagne yet, but maybe it was best they started fresh.

“If what you want is to be my date for the evening, then that’s what we’ll do.” And, with Hux’ arm wrapped firmly around Ben’s waist for the rest of the meal, they did, Owen - if he noticed that Hux had switched seats during his absence - wisely choosing not to comment.  

Hux pulled out all the stops, ordering for him, the way he’d seen business colleagues do for their companions at dinners they’d shared, the way Phasma had even done on the few occasions she’d invited Hux along to meet one of her myriad dates. Of course he consulted with Ben beforehand, testing the waters for ingredients he hadn’t seen Ben enjoy before and ensuring that there weren’t any further menu alterations Ben wanted to suggest. For as familiar as Hux was with fine French food, it was Ben who had an intuition that bordered on the supernatural when it came to envisioning how different flavors fit together, and when the wine arrived, he allowed Ben to take the first sip for himself, waiting for the small smile and nod that signaled he approved of it before waving Owen off. He spent the rest of the meal tilting the wineglass up to Ben’s lips himself, plying him with little sips that stained his upper lip a blush pink and tinged his teeth the same color, while his cheeks colored to match with each swallow, spots spreading high on his cheekbones, heating as the wine went to his head.  

He’d never seen Ben quite so relaxed, languid and sprawling out over the chair, all long legs that barely fit under the table when he wasn’t overtly aware of them and hands that wanted best to be on Hux’ thigh, his laugh freer than Hux knew it could be, hitching in his nose while Ben stifled it into the crook of his arm, and there watching him, it didn’t take for the headrush to affect Hux too. Neither champagne nor wine had ever affected him this way, had ever made him feel this giddy. Was it warm up here because of the ovens and stovetops burning at 400 degrees just below or was it Ben’s proximity, the unmistakable wash of his affection, that tingled in his extremities? Hux didn’t know, but his head swam with it, his aim so clumsy that he missed Ben’s mouth entirely and decorated his cheek up one side with lychee rose gelee complete with red fruit compote when he tried to feed him from his own fork.

It worked in Hux’ favor that Ben was amenable to his method of removing it - a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss that ended in the realization that nothing complemented red fruit compote like the sharp sweetness of Ben’s skin - and Hux did it again, just to make sure he hadn’t missed any. They both agreed the dessert was far too good to waste, after all.

By the time they left the warmth of _Daniel_ behind them, Hux couldn’t have commented on the bite of the wind outside; he hardly felt it at all as he ushered Ben into the waiting town car, the two of them tripping and giggling still, Ben’s scarf askew on his neck, one side pulled so that it hung far too long, the buttons of Hux’ peacoat done up wrong. People were staring, he was certain of it, perhaps more than when they’d arrived, the two of them were making such a display, but he couldn’t have cared less as they all but fell into the backseat, Hux so sated, so drunk on sweet red wine and delicious food and the heady feeling of Ben’s presence that he could have burst with it.

How lucky could a man get, really - and he hummed to himself as he let his head flop back to rest against the seat, Ben’s on his shoulder. Surely there was some limit to the amount of luck a man was allotted in a lifetime, but if there was, Hux decided, he was hellbent on using up his until it ran out. He was going to hoard all of this, every moment of it, the song becoming louder, more recognizable, on his lips as he dragged Ben, still blushing and apologizing to their driver for their behavior over Hux’ protestations that no apologies were necessary, from the car and into the elevator.

\---

Hux had never been much of a singer. It wasn’t that he didn’t _appreciate_ music. He did; he simply lacked the ear for tone and key that came so naturally to some. So he hummed along to the music Beru played for him while he worked, sometimes mumbled the words to his Sinatra favorites under his breath when the impulse took him - usually behind the wheel of one of his cars - and, for Hux, that had always been enough. He’d never wanted to do more than that, but that night, leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom he now shared with Ben, watching him undress, Ben struggling to unbutton the shirt he was wearing, jacket and vest tossed beside him on the bed, his collar rumpled and his face flushed with wine and exertion as he wrestled with one of the sleeves, Hux was surprised to hear a tune above the sounds of the city that filtered in from outside at all hours.

It was off-key and softly sung, but recognizable. Strange, he thought, he hadn’t asked Beru to play any music. At this hour, she was programmed to recognize that it was time for quiet, and it was then that he realized: it was him. _He_ was singing - however poorly - and Ben could hear him, was watching him now, mouth open slightly, hands gone still halfway out of his shirt, and while Hux should have been embarrassed, the wine had done its job well. Instead, the thought came to him that perhaps he should continue. Perhaps no one had ever serenaded Ben before, and if that was the case, well, it was a damn shame and he was going to remedy that _right now_. It was just further proof that Hux’ lucky streak hadn’t yet run out that the master bathroom was attached just off their bedroom, so it was easy enough to find the hairbrush Ben used when he wanted to style his hair, just as it was easy enough to come out of the bathroom, his tie loosened and his own suit jacket lost somewhere along the way, with the hairbrush held to his lips, a makeshift microphone.  

Ben was half-sat on the bed when he returned, his ass just on the edge of it, looking lost, and there was a part of Hux that thought _just what the hell do you think you’re doing -_ which was rather what Ben’s face said as well - but it was overshadowed by the part that considered it very unfortunate that Ben was sitting on the bed like that with no one to straddle his hips when they looked so welcoming.  

“Wha-?” Ben started, but Hux paid him no mind. He’d never felt such a natural-born performer as when he advanced on his partner, his own hips swinging in time to the music. Or at least it felt like they were. How had he never realized this was so _easy,_ he thought, the hand that wasn’t clutching the brush digging under his tie until he was able to fling it across the room. He really should have considered this as a career, and he got down on Ben’s level, throwing one leg over his lap before he started to sing again, the brush held between his lips and Ben’s:

_Fly me to the moon_

_Let me play among the stars_

_See what spring is like_

_On Jupiter and Mars_

Ben didn’t quite know what the hell to do with himself, or the situation, or the fact that he didn’t know what to do with himself or the situation - but he did know that his face was likely to catch fire any minute from how hard he was blushing. He was more than a little tipsy, but apparently that didn’t stop his overactive brain from wanting to crawl out of his ear to get away from the massive amount of second hand embarrassment he was currently experiencing. Hux was a man of many talents, but singing, apparently, was _not_ one of them. He wanted to hide under the bed, wanted to escape the absolutely surreal experience of having Ethan Hux, CEO of Imperial Marketing, one of the richest men in the country, straddling his lap and serenading him with a hairbrush for a microphone. Not only that, but he was really giving it his all, too, and nothing in Ben’s life could ever have prepared him for this.

At the same time, though, it was probably one of the most romantic things Hux had done for him so far - given that it was also _by far_ one of the cheesiest - and it made Ben all warm and tingly inside from how loved it made him feel that this amazing, regal, dignified man didn’t think twice about making himself look absolutely ridiculous just so he could make Ben happy. Ben had honestly never thought he’d get to experience anything even remotely close to this, and he couldn’t help but smile so widely it almost hurt.

But then Hux hit a note that his voice was just not supposed to even attempt, and Ben decided that, as sweet as it was, he just couldn’t take any more of it. His frazzled nerves were as bad with positive attention as they were with negative, and the amount of positive attention he was being showered in at the moment was rapidly becoming overwhelming. It also felt vaguely weird to have Hux on his lap, and Ben realized - adding another layer of embarrassment to the situation - that he felt like it was _his_ place. Like he was the one who was supposed to sit on Hux’ lap if the opportunity presented itself. This way felt all backwards, even though it did allow him to see and feel perfectly well just how much Hux was enjoying it. Blushing even deeper, if that was even possible by now, and emboldened by the generous amount of wine in his bloodstream, Ben grabbed Hux by his shirt collar and crushed their lips together. It was the only thing he could think of that would put an end to this… _singing_.

The effect on Hux was, as always, more or less immediate. Once he’d gotten his bearings, he wasted no time in taking control of the kiss, and Ben was more than happy to give it - he’d never been the type who wanted to lead anyway - and then he found himself unceremoniously toppled over on his back as Hux went to work on placing what felt like an entire galaxy of hickeys on his neck. He’d let go of the brush the same second as Ben had kissed him, and both his hands were now occupied with getting Ben’s shirt open and out of the way. The impatient, bordering on frenetic moves of his fingers - clumsy from even more wine than Ben had had - spoke volumes of how wanted Ben was in that moment, and it made him equally impatient as he did his best to return the favour. A wish - no, a _need_ \- had been building up inside him over the past couple of weeks; a need to step things up a notch, even though he did agree with Hux that going ‘all the way’ could wait.

But he needed more from Hux than just kisses and what touches they’d exchanged, because his brain had started to think those thoughts again. Those horrible, creeping, nagging, painful little whispers in the back of his mind, that maybe Hux always stopped before any clothing actually came off because he didn’t want to look at Ben’s body. Maybe, despite everything he’d said, he didn’t want to fuck anyone with a body as ugly and damaged as Ben’s. Maybe he was still looking for a way out of having to pretend he wanted Ben. Maybe the sight of Ben naked would kill any hard-on he might have had. Maybe he couldn’t bring himself to… Maybe. _Maybe, maybe, maybe_. Ben hated that word. Hated the power it had over him. Hated how it made him doubt Hux, even when he had yet to wake up a single morning without at least one new hickey somewhere on his neck or shoulders. He’d even found one just above his hipbone once, and still his mind refused to give it a rest.

No, Ben needed proof. Needed to know that Hux really did want him as much as he claimed. And tonight, here, _now_ , he might finally get it.

The way Hux had nearly torn both his own shirt and Ben’s in his hurry to get the offending garments off, growling profanities under his breath at them for keeping ‘his precious boy’s skin away from him,’ sure was promising. It always fascinated Ben, how Hux could be as strong as he was, given that the most Ben had ever seen him lift or carry - apart from Ben himself, but that was beside the point - was Millicent, and the occasional shopping bag. But from his very lovely vantage point, he realized, again, that while there wasn’t much fat to be found on him, Hux seemed to consist of equal parts sharp bones and wiry muscles - and Ben swore he’d never seen anything more sexy in his life than the way he could see the muscles and tendons working under Hux’ freckled skin as he more or less manhandled Ben to get his chest free of the infuriating fabric.

And though he’d seen the thin line of fine hair running from his bellybutton and down beneath his waistline before, the full effect of it hadn’t quite hit until now. Now, when he was on his back on their bed, his hands having somehow moved to rake over Hux’ bare skin, revelling in the sight of the red welts left in the wake of his nails. He wasn’t usually this brave, but Hux didn’t seem to mind the scratches - if anything it encouraged him - and for the next several minutes, Ben couldn’t even form a coherent thought, because Hux descended on him, all demanding kisses and heated caresses.

Eventually, they finally had to stop kissing long enough to get air, even though it was mainly short breaths between hungry, sloppy kisses and Hux’ never-ending stream of praise and endearments - their hands frenzied in their movements, as if the world would end if they couldn’t touch every inch of each other they could possibly reach. _Hux had somehow managed to move from straddling Ben to laying on top of him, with Ben’s legs wrapped tightly around his hips,_ and the friction created by the layers of fabric between them, their bodies pressing as close as they could, their hips moving restlessly against each other, was driving them both mad - Ben could feel it. He needed more than this - they both did - and he knew Hux would never be the one to ask. It was fine, because Ben knew he needed to be the one to. Needed to prove to himself that he could. And, _God_ , he was far enough gone now that the only thing he was more scared of than asking for what he needed, was to _not_ ask for what he needed.

“H-Hux,” he stuttered out. It was hard to breathe with Hux doing something very pleasurable to his neck, kissing and nipping at it as if Ben was the sweetest dessert in the world, while one of his hands was buried in Ben’s hair, and the other was keeping a tight grip on his ass - keeping them as close together as they could possibly go. “Hux, p-please, I-! I n-need… I want...”

“What is it you need, love?” Hux breathed, as he raised his head enough to look at Ben. His pupils were blown wide from arousal, and his beard was as disheveled as his hair. He’d never been more beautiful. “Tell me. Anything you need, my darling, _darling_ boy. Let me hear you say it.”

“I-... I want to, uhm, to touch you. For you to touch me. _Please_. Please, I need it.” He gave a cautious little roll of his hips to indicate just where he wanted that touch, and Hux looked like he’d just been given the greatest gift ever. “Please?” he repeated, and it snapped Hux right out of his temporary shock.

Somehow, he got both their slacks unzipped while kissing the air right out of Ben’s lungs, gently guiding his hand down to close around his dick. As Ben adjusted his grip, moving his hand slightly to make sure it wouldn’t be uncomfortable, Hux muffled a groan against Ben’s hickey covered neck - his hips jerking slightly of their own accord, trying to follow Ben’s hand. The second after, Ben felt Hux’ own hand on him and he swore his heart stopped for a moment, and he could do little else but gasp and try to cling onto what little sanity he might still possess as Hux picked up a slow pace with his hand, coaxing Ben to follow. Then they were kissing again, deep, slow, unhurried in a way their hands most definitely weren’t, stealing glances down every now and then, before having to look away - both of them too affected by the sight to handle it. Ben had trouble keeping the rhythm, his senses too overwhelmed, the heat in his belly and the tension building in his muscles too much, but Hux saved him by taking them both in his hand - guiding Ben’s arms around his back instead, allowing him to dig his nails into his shoulders and hide his face against his neck - as he worked them both towards their imminent climax. There was just no way they would last long, not with how badly they had both wanted this, and Ben could hear Hux’ voice turn from deep, to rough, to breathless as he showered Ben in praise. Ben himself was reduced to gasps, whimpers and the occasional groan of Hux’ name.

“E-Ethan-!” he breathed. He didn’t even register what he’d said until it was already out there, but he couldn’t stop it - and, he realized, he didn’t want to. “E-Ethan, p-please d-don’t stop! P-please, ‘m not gonna-!... not gonna last much longer-!”

_Ethan._ There was little that would have registered through the haze of his arousal, through the sweet friction building between his cock and Ben’s, but that did it. One hand was wrapped around the both of them, the other curved around Ben’s hip to skirt the edge of his boxers, his fingertips stroking the velvety skin on the inside of Ben’s thigh - softer there than anywhere else, except for where ropes of scarring were raised beneath his fingers - and his touch stuttered at the name, losing the rhythm Hux had set as he gulped down air, suddenly thirsty for it. His body thirsted for something else entirely, his cock heavy and aching at the sound of Ben swallowing down spit in a mouth gone dry, at the feel of nails that had been bitten jagged carving crescents into his back, at the way the name _\- his name -_ fit the contour of Ben’s mouth, his generous lips going round and wide and warm as the steam from Ben’s cooking pots against the junction of his neck and shoulder at the _‘a’_ in the second syllable.

It was a good name, a strong name, his father had said - and oh what his father would say if he could see him now, worshiping Ben’s body like a man gone too long without a visit to church, the indentations at his hips and the ridges of his ribcage, visible just under the shroud of his skin, the only idols in front of which Hux would ever pledge his faith. The only sight that would ever make him hit his knees and cross himself, the sweat that pooled in the hollows under his collarbone the only water in which he’d ever been baptised, and Hux nuzzled into it, the tangy smell of Ben’s exertion clinging to his nose, his upper lip, the space between the two, until Hux licked at the edges of his mouth greedily, savoring it.

Whether the name had been good or strong, Hux couldn’t have said as Ben arched up off the bed and into Hux’ touch, eager to help things along, always such an agreeable boy.  What the name had been was a family one, but Hux was quite sure it wasn’t genetics that told him to drag his squared-off thumbnail experimentally down the side of Ben’s cock, Ben’s hips twisting at the attention, trying at once to turn away and to roll into it. He’d said he was close, and there was no doubt he was telling the truth as Hux repeated the motion, stopping just before he came to the head, then taking them both firmly in hand again, pressing Ben’s  arousal flush against his own, Ben grinding out something from between clenched teeth that might have been the name again, if said around a mouthful of rocks.  

It had been the name of one of his great uncles or something like that, Hux knew, even with the blood having long ago left his head to rush to other places. Someone Hux had never met and who his father had admired greatly, a man who had never set foot outside of the country where he was born, whose wooden-soled shoes had never clicked on the pavement of New York like Hux’ had. He’d been dead before Hux had met the world at all, would likely have never known much of Hux even if he hadn’t been, his roots were so deeply entrenched in a Britain Hux remembered mostly from stories.

While Hux spoke the dialect, while he knew the history and the triumphs of his mother country, while he turned his nose at tea blended here in the States and ran his fingers with reverence over creme-colored jackets whose sleeves had known Alexander Mcqueen’s touch, Hux would never be at home there as was here. What had he to share with a man who’d never coveted a similar jacket crafted by an American designer, who’d never had to endure the raucousness of a ball dropping on New Year’s Eve, who’d never stood outside of a _Macy’s,_ for Christ’s sake? His soul was more Sinatra than Bowie, the beat of a big brass band the familiar cadence of his heart - something he’d never been able to say to his father, his father who’d called himself _Hux_ and him _Ethan_ with a turn of his lips that said if the name was good and strong, Hux would never be enough so. That he would never live up to it, would never live up to a man dead and buried in a country they’d left years ago.

Hux let the delicate pads of the fingers wrapped around Ben’s hip drift down, let them push aside his boxers until they were moving over a ring of puckered crepe paper skin. He’d never touched Ben _there_ , not yet, and he groaned as he let them dig into the swell of Ben’s ass - that too, he suspected, just as speckled with moles as the rest of Ben’s body. The muscles there were taut and trembling with the effort of keeping himself from spilling over Hux’ hand, of making this last as long as he could - which, if he’d gone half as long as Hux had without being touched like this, was a self-imposed torture so sweet Hux was just cruel enough to help drag it out for him. Someday soon, he knew, he’d take Ben entirely, would put not only his fingers there, inside of him, but after that, his cock too - maybe his mouth, even, when they were finished. There was no place he wouldn’t touch Ben, no way he wouldn’t claim him, if Ben wanted it. But tonight, the touch was only a kiss, the spread of his legs testing, teasing, seeing what Ben would look like spread open for him when the time came.

And what a preview it was, enough that Hux had to look away first, if he didn’t want to be the one to spill first.

“You don’t know what you do to me, Ben,” he whispered, his tongue too large and sticking in his throat, to the roof of his mouth, until he swirled it along the lobe of Ben’s ear, more plentiful, even, than his lips, and just as tempting. “You’re lovely in ways I don’t even know yet - I discover them each day, discover new ways I can want you.” The alcohol made things fuzzy around the edges, the warmth trapped between them almost too much, one hand still palming Ben’s ass greedily. The other was picking up speed as he worked the two of them to the edge, punctuating each of Ben’s breathy gasps with a squeeze to the base of his cock that had him choking on it, dead in his throat before he could bring it up. “From the moment I saw you, that hair - even when it wasn’t long enough, when it was in that silly haircut I found you with, I wanted you. I wanted to tug on it, wanted to use it to guide you as I kissed into your mouth.” Ben tried to deny it, tried to shake his head, the muscles in his thighs going tighter, nearly crushing Hux’ hand, but Hux wouldn’t relent.

“Yes, your mouth - the one that, when you say the simplest word, changes to fit the shape of it, like it was made for your lips only.” He licked a stripe down from Ben’s ear, across his jaw, rough with the barest hint of a five o’clock shadow even well past 11pm, and then into the corner of his mouth, his heartbeat muffled in his ears. “How could anyone _not_ want to kiss them? When you smile, you know, it’s like a damned _invitation_ , and I think I couldn’t help myself if I tried. I want your smile against mine and only against mine. I want to kiss it open, want to kiss _you_ open.” And Ben _did_ open at that, his mouth relaxing, his cock leaking in Hux’ hand, while Hux gave a sharp tug that earned him a strangled cry and a set of nail marks in his back that would _last._ Hux was so hard it was painful, shifting into his own grip. “I love your mouth and your hair and the sound of your laugh and I love the way your dick feels next to mine and the way _you_ feel next to me when we sleep and I love how sometimes I can’t tell one from the other - which part of it is arousal and which part of it is affection - and _fuck,_ Ben, sweetling, your eyes are the color of the earth, did you know that?” Breathless and light-headed, Hux dug his fingers into Ben’s hip, grinding them together. “Look at me, Ben. Let me see them.”

_That_ was Ben’s undoing - just another press of his thumbnail and Ben was coming, looking at Hux like he had asked, at least as well as he could, his gaze going out of focus somewhere above Hux’ nose as pleasure washed over him, kept from writhing too much by the press of Hux’ weight. The friction became less with Ben’s dick softening, but the motions of Hux’ hand were easier now, helped along by Ben’s slickness, and it took just a few pulls for Hux to join him, letting go of Ben’s hip to pull him closer - the deep purple shadows Hux’ fingers left behind the only marks he would ever see Ben wear again as he plastered their bare chests together, sticky with sweat. They hadn’t prepared for his - Hux was making a mess both of himself and the sheets, and that was to say nothing of Ben, who Hux had coated more thoroughly than he’d coated himself, but that was hardly a complaint as he panted open-mouthed into Ben’s neck, his own breath rising hot against his nose.

Whatever the first Ethan Hux had done, he thought, shivering at the coolness of the air in all the places Ben wasn’t touching, goosebumps prickling on his bare shoulders as he pressed their foreheads together, he’d never caused Ben Solo to come, had never given him an orgasm that wrung him dry, left muscles jumping from overstimulation as he reached blindly out for Hux to hold him, Hux breathing into his mouth. And that alone was enough to convince Hux that he had outdone the man, the pulses of his own orgasm still coming unevenly in his hand, the evidence of Ben’s release sticky between his fingers.  

As he let go of his dick, he flexed his hand, relishing the tackiness, considering it, before wiping his fingers on the sheet. The old Hux would never have done that, would have already been out of bed and stripping the sheets, would have been forcing Ben into the shower if not already doing up his pants and shoving him out the door, but for Ben - Ben who he had reduced to this, whose skin was damp underneath of his nose, sweat clinging to his eyelashes and gluing them together in clumps so he looked like he’d cried though Hux knew he hadn’t - he could perhaps be someone else. Could be someone good. Someone strong. Someone who slept on sheets that desperately needed to be laundered just because they smelled like Ben the first time Hux had coaxed him to release. It sounded like a possibility worth exploring, and Hux didn’t bother with anything more than a cursory swipe of a cloth, warmed in the bathroom sink, over the vulnerable softness of Ben’s belly before he urged the boy up to fall asleep against the pillows, hands tucked under his chin.

His father had never bet on _that,_ he suspected, as he helped a mostly unconscious and mumbling Ben to kick his slacks at least down to his ankles and then pressed a kiss to the back of a freckled shoulder, but perhaps - just perhaps - he could be Ethan.

\---

Ben woke up slowly, his body still heavy with exhaustion, his mind an unexpectedly nice kind of sluggish, and somewhere at the edges of his consciousness he registered that there was some sort of sound coming from outside the bedroom. He knew that he should probably recognize the sound - which he eventually realized was actually a voice and the sound of someone walking - but his mind still wasn’t quick enough, and it dawned on him far too late that he was lying on the bed, with no covers or even a blanket, wearing only his boxers. Then the door was thrown open with such a force it nearly made a dent in the wall, and before Ben had any chance of covering himself - of doing anything at all but freezing in horror - Phasma was entering the bedroom. But somehow, even when half asleep, Hux’ reflexes were flawless, and the second the door hit the wall, he rolled over, drawing up the covers and shielding Ben with his own body, placing himself between Ben and whatever the hell was going on. Unfortunately, it did nothing to help the situation, as Phasma’s voice boomed through the air at a volume that should not have been possible that early in the morning:

“ _What the-_ Hux, I’ve seen you pull some down and dirty tricks in my day, but this? This takes the cake. You right _bastard._ You’d better have one _hell_ of an explanation.” She stalked to the side of the bed to rip the pillow Hux was resting on out from behind his head. _“_ I’m giving you exactly five seconds to start talking - that’s five seconds before I bloody castrate you myself, if you’re keeping track.”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings apply for this chapter. :)

“Phasma, I- _what?_ ” Sitting up, Hux gathered the covers to his chest, hands fisted in the sheets, now that he could be certain Ben’s modesty was protected. This wasn’t the first time Phasma had found him in a compromising position - they’d woken up in the same room just as exposed as he was now on more than one occasion, one shoe on and with no recollection of the night before. It wouldn’t blind her to see his bare chest, nor anything else he had to offer, but Ben was another story. Though Ben was still blinking to awareness, Hux knew he’d be mortified once he realized Phasma had seen him not only shirtless, but with only his boxers to his name. “I can explain. Just give me a moment to… a moment to-” Hux raised a hand to his head. A moment to do what? Find a way of explaining just what in the hell Ben was doing in his bed, mostly naked, with a love bite the size of a half-dollar and the color of a ripe plum bitten into the milky skin over his collarbone? At least that part was hidden for now, the sheets pulled up to Ben’s nose, but it wouldn’t stay that way from long - and really, there was no way of explaining that one that would go his way. No version of this that _wouldn’t_ end with him nursing a stinging cheek - if he was lucky and Phasma decided not to go directly for his balls, as she’d threatened.

After the experience in his office, he didn’t doubt that she would.

He smacked his dry lips together, mouth feeling like it had been rubbed raw with steel wool. Phasma had kicked the lights in his room up to their full brightness when she’d thrown the door open and was now in the process of drawing back shades with little concern for the headache Hux was nursing. It pulsed right behind his eyes - champagne was a bastard like that every time, but he never learned - and he squinted into the unforgiving light of late morning as beside him, Ben, who still had his pillow left to him, buried his face in it. He didn’t look like he was faring much better than Hux was, whining in the back of his throat when Phasma raised her voice again.  

“Forgive me!” she exclaimed, though she didn’t sound like she had much to be sorry for, turning back to face him with a hand thrown over her heart like as if she was preparing to accept an Academy Award once she’d finished opening the shades. It was all a little dramatic - she could have simply used the button on the wall - but Hux didn’t think she’d appreciate hearing that right then. “Did you need a moment to collect yourself after your evening of debauchery? Taking advantage of the boy you have _sleeping in your goddamned bed_ when you couldn’t be bothered to look at him for the past month took a lot out of you, did it?” The look she gave Hux as she took in his disheveled appearance - the pillow creases on the side of his face and unkempt beard - held not a shred of sympathy, and Hux winced.  

“Oh, poor Hux,” she crooned, her voice deceptively soft. “Why didn’t you say so? Here, let me help.” Hux barely had time to flinch before she smacked him square upside the head, sending his already aching skull rattling, and he let go of the sheet with a cry to raise his hands defensively, still reeling.

“For God’s sake - wait!” he protested, instinctively moving out of her reach as he looked to the pile of blankets that was his partner after Hux had covered him in his haste. Beside him, Ben had peeked out from under them and was looking between Hux and Phasma, horrified, one hand already raised to his mouth to gnaw on a nail. While Ben usually woke up with his hair looking exactly like it had when he’d fallen asleep - something Hux didn’t understand but envied just the same with the ridiculous bed-head that had been his lifelong curse - the night’s activities had taken their toll on him as well, and his hair was a halo of dark tangles twice its normal size. Hux would have laughed his ass off at it had he not been fearing for his life. “You said I had five seconds, remember?”

“And those five seconds are up. You used them whining.” Before Hux could argue that he hadn’t really been given a chance to whine, she turned her attention to his partner, now visible from under the covers, her expression going soft. “Ben, honey? Are you okay under there? We’re going to get you out of here, don’t you worry.” With another scowl in Hux’ direction, she moved to the other side of the bed, giving Ben just as much of a chance to answer her questions as she’d given Hux - which was exactly none. “Now you just tell me what you’ve done with your pants and I’ll help you get dressed.” She patted Ben’s knee through the blankets, then crouched down and began pawing through the pile of clothing on the floor, wrinkling her nose when the first article she came upon was the shirt Hux had been wearing. Hux knew she recognized it as one of his favorites, as well as one he’d had Thannison order specifically for him when he’d seen one of his colleagues wearing something similar, and she tossed it behind her to land in a wrinkled heap, giving him a pointed look. “You just let me take care of everything, okay? Everything’s going to be just fine.”

When Phasma turned back to the pile of last night’s clothing, casting aside Hux’ belt, a scoff forced its way up his throat and out of his mouth before he could stop it. He shook his head, his brain still doing an impression of a goldfish in a tank too small as he felt Ben shift against him - this was too much. Not only was it too early for this; he was too _hungover_ for it, his eyes gritty and still half-glued shut, even his teeth feeling strangely sensitive. Last night, with the memory of Ben’s face as he’d spilled in Hux’ hand still fresh in his mind, the cleanliness of the bedding had been the farthest thing from Hux’ thoughts, but now, running his fingers over the stiffness of the sheets that covered his legs, he regretted his choice not to change them. Even an idiot could see what they’d gotten up to the night before - and his COO was no idiot. Where the tackiness between his fingers had been a welcome souvenir of their activities when viewed through the rose-colored tint of blush champagne and orgasm, this morning he would have killed for a shower.  

Which he would have had - Ben in tow - if Phasma had learned how to bloody _knock._

He’d rarely felt more disgusting, he noted with no small bitterness, and if he didn’t get a sip of water soon, there was every chance his mouth was going to stick together permanently. So why shouldn’t he take his chances? Sure, Phasma was like to kill him, but if she was going to, there was no use in dragging it out. He might as well do what he could to speed the process along. She’d already made up her mind; it was all going to play out the same either way, and champagne hangovers did enough of a number on him that he couldn’t be entirely sure a quick death wasn’t the _preferable_ option anyway.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!” he snorted, knowing full well how reckless the words were and not giving a damn. “What do you think this is - some sort of rescue mission? Did you really think you were going to swoop in here and steal him away from - away from my _what,_ exactly _?_ My selfish machinations?” When he threw the covers back, he was pleased to find he’d fallen asleep with his slacks still on, though they were unbuttoned and the fly unzipped, his boxers askew, and he had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from blushing. He wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. “Good lord, Phasma, I know I haven’t been at my best lately, but you can’t seriously believe I’d do…” He fumbled for words, the way he gnawed the inside of cheek doing no good as his face grew heated at the idea. “That I’d do what _I_ think _you_ think I just did!”

Phasma froze, Ben’s undershirt in her hand. She squinted up at him from her place on the floor with something that looked like suspicion in her eyes, and for what Hux thought might have been the first time when faced with something Phasma had done, he felt his blood boil. He could have already had Ben in the shower, rinsing the evidence of last night from his body, conditioner-slicked hands taming his hair back into submission - they could have already had a repeat of the night before, the spray hitting them from overhead, for all he knew. But instead, Ben was huddled on his side of the bed and Hux was climbing from the other, fumbling with his fly, trying to explain something that would have taken less than Hux’ allotted five seconds of explanation if only Phasma had listened for one goddamned minute.

Sure, Phasma had tried his patience before, but nothing like _this;_ it wasn’t that she’d called Hux’ integrity into question so much as that she had suggested he’d take advantage of Ben, and it was righteous indignation that steadied his hand enough that he was finally able to button his slacks as he stared her down, studiously _not_ considering that, were he to turn around, she would have been faced with the tracks of Ben’s nails down his back. Let her see. It wasn’t as though they’d done anything _wrong._ He was a grown man and, more importantly, so was Ben - and he set his chin defiantly, refusing to flinch under her scrutiny.

“How would I know what _you_ think _I_ think you just did,” she snapped, a hand on her knee as she levered herself up from her crouching position. She tucked Ben’s undershirt under her arm. “I’m not a mind-reader, Hux - though I do find it rather telling that you’d jump to such conclusions about my train of thought when I’ve said no such thing. You came to those conclusions yourself. Sounds like the workings of a guilty conscience to me.” Fighting the urge to wrap his arms around himself as goosebumps prickled on his bare chest, Hux found himself wishing desperately for his shirt. Unfortunately, Phasma blocked his path; in order to retrieve the hopelessly wrinkled garment, he would have had to ask her to move, and the way she’d planted her legs suggested she had no plans on doing that, so it seemed he would just have to freeze until she decided otherwise. “Why should I believe anything you have to say anyway, after all the shit you’ve pulled lately? You can’t expect me to take your word for it when Ben-”

“Shut the fuck up!” Ben spat out as he sat up, keeping the covers wrapped around him as much as he could, causing her to freeze to the spot - mouth agape and eyes wide at the venom of his tone. “First of all, Phasma, I’m not a fucking child! Don’t _ever_ talk to me like that again! I’m 25 fucking years old, and - believe it or not - I am fully fucking capable of making my own goddamned decisions about what I do with my own goddamned body! Second, how fucking _dare_ you just come in here and accuse Ethan of… I dunno, fucking _molesting_ me, when you didn’t so much as give him, or me, time to say shit? What the hell kind of a friend are you? You honestly think he’d _do_ that? You don’t know jack shit about what’s happened since the last time you were here, so maybe you wanna get your facts straight before you pull this kind of bullshit on us. Third, I’d really fucking like to get dressed now, and I am not going to do that with you here. Please leave. Go to the living room or whatever - I don’t care - just get the fuck out of our bedroom. Now.”

Phasma’s storming into the bedroom and immediately starting shit had triggered so many bad memories at once, that Ben couldn’t stop the tirade from bursting right out of him. He knew he’d raised his voice to a level just lower than an actual shout, but he was too angry to care. What she had accused Ethan of, what she’d said to Ben himself… It crossed every single line he could think of, and he just couldn’t let it stand. He just _couldn’t_!

How the fuck could she say shit like that? How _dare_ she? He’d almost started trusting her, too - had really thought she was a good person, a good friend - and then she had to go and… and… and treat Ben like some fucking _toddler_ , after having accused someone she’d claimed was her friend of more or less _raping_ him. He felt sick to his stomach, the situation paired with the amount of alcohol he’d had the previous evening made for one disgusting feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he couldn’t help but feel so… fucking _stupid_. Ben was good at reading people. In fact, he was a fucking expert at it - it was the only way of surviving in the Solo household - and he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen this coming. How had he not seen this coming? There had to have been signs, because there were always signs, and yet somehow he’d missed them.

He wanted her out of the apartment, wanted distance, wanted quiet and safe and Ethan’s arms around him and maybe a few days of cooling off before he could bear to look at her again. He needed to calm down, needed to put this anger away somewhere before he blew up - Leia and Han’s words ringing so loudly in his ears they nearly drowned everything else out. _He mustn’t be angry, mustn’t raise his voice, mustn’t interrupt the grown-ups when they were talking. He didn’t know anything, he was too stupid to understand some things, too unstable, too_ volatile _. He should know his place. Should know that he only ruined things when he got angry, only hurt people, only made one big goddamn fool of himself._

....Oh fuck.

He’d _yelled_ at Phasma. He’d said a whole bunch of really bad words _to Phasma_ , and though he knew - logically - that he was right, it all felt so wrong. Normally, people yelled at _Ben_ \- that was the right way around, because usually Ben was the one who deserved it. And now he’d gone and done that to Phasma, as if she… as if she was as bad as Ben. No one was as bad as Ben, and now he’d gone and fucked up again, and he really needed to get a fucking grip on himself because now was not the fucking time for him to have a fucking panic attack.

Then the bed dipped just next to him, and Ethan pulled him close - pulling the covers up around his shoulders, and holding him tight. His beard tickled Ben on the forehead as he placed gentle kisses on his temple, but Ben didn’t need to see his face to know he was glaring absolute murder at Phasma while comforting Ben. It came across perfectly well in the protectiveness of his embrace, and how he had placed himself between Phasma and Ben. It would have made him smile had he not been as upset as he was.

“You heard him,” Hux said, only ceasing to press soft kisses to Ben’s hair long enough to get the words out. “I think Ben was perfectly clear. Go wait in the living room. He’s in no state to talk right now, and frankly, neither am I. There’ll be plenty of time for us to discuss this once he’s managed to collect himself from… whatever the hell you call what you just did.” He gave a Phasma a sidelong look, his nose still brushing Ben’s ear. “Maybe you should take this time to reflect on why you thought it was a good idea to barge in here uninvited and scare the two of us half to death. You might be able to get in the door, but that doesn’t give you carte blanche access to the place.”

Ben hid his face in the crook of Ethan’s neck as he listened to the sound of Phasma - still speechless - leaving the room, closing the door behind her. The hangover was making itself known as a sharp, drumming pain somewhere behind his eyes, and he felt simultaneously nauseous and hungry. His tongue felt about two sizes too big, sticking to the roof of his mouth, and he could kill for a very big cup of coffee. It had been a long time since he’d drank this much, and now he remembered why. The only comfort, really, was that no matter how horrid a state Ben was in, Ethan was even worse off. He looked like death warmed over, and Ben knew they could both have used a few more hours of sleep - but there was nothing for it now.

“Thank you,” he mumbled against Ethan’s skin once it was just the two of them again. “I’m sorry I yelled like that.”

“No, sweetness,” Ethan sighed. “You had every right. In fact, you bore it better than I did. Perhaps I could stand to take a few lessons from you in Phasma-wrangling.” A tired-sounding chuckle rumbled in his chest. “Truly, I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

“I’m so sorry she said all of that to you, though,” Ben said. “That was just… just crossing the line.”

Silently, Hux agreed. It had been. Perhaps he’d deserved a dressing-down after the last time he and Phasma had really talked to one another. Perhaps he’d deserved more than that - but Ben hadn’t deserved any of it. If Ben was feeling anything like he was - and one look at the way Ben was still squinting into the sunlight from the floor-to-ceiling windows and the light sheen of clammy sweat on his forehead was enough to tell Hux he wasn’t alone in his misery - what he needed was an easy morning with dimmed lights and something that settled easily on the stomach. Phasma couldn’t have picked a worse time to decide she needed to check on things for herself, and as Hux reached inside the covers to rest a hand on Ben’s bare stomach, kneading slightly at the clenched muscles, the anger at Phasma’s assertions niggled at him again. How dare she insinuate…

He breathed out through his nose. Once Phasma settled the score with Ben, she’d have _him_ to deal with.

“That’s… well, that’s Phasma.” The words were said on a sigh while Ben started to relax against him, Hux lightening the pressure on his stomach until the motions were almost tickling, only the tips of his fingers trailing just above Ben’s bellybutton, giving him something to focus on that wasn’t the upset there. Damned champagne. “Not that that’s an excuse, mind you - but remember what I said when the two of you first met, about her bark being worse than her bite?”  

Ben nodded sullenly against him.  

“Well, sometimes she could do with a bloody _muzzle_ she has so damned much to say. But I know she said what she did because she was worried about you, love. You tend to have that effect on people. Everyone we meet wants to take you under their wing. You can’t blame them for that. It’s just that they don’t see - you have wings of your own.” Ben huffed out a rather disbelieving snort at that, twisting to look at Hux with eyes that were just as bloodshot as Hux’, and Hux raised an eyebrow in return, surprised to find that even that small motion caused his head to throb. “What? It’s _true._ I didn’t see it at first either, but you’re quite equipped to fly on your own. You’re doing just fine - it’s the rest of us that are taking a little time to catch on. You’re the one who’s going to have to have patience with _us -_ though we might not always deserve it.”

His own stomach gave an unpleasant roll, and Hux grimaced at the bitter taste in his mouth, closing his eyes and letting his head fall against Ben’s, relishing the cool clamminess of Ben’s forehead on his overheated face.

“Do you think you might be able to face her in the interest of procuring some _incredibly_ strong coffee for the two of us?” he suggested, eyes still closed. “And maybe a handful of painkillers - or six? Then we can see about making some toast.” Ben shook his head emphatically at that, but Hux just massaged his stomach again, smiling to himself despite his myriad physical complaints. “Shhh, I know food doesn’t sound like the answer right now, but It’s the only cure I know for too much champagne the night before. Trust me, I’ve done this before - and you’re in luck. The toaster just happens to be one of the appliances in our kitchen that I know how to operate without your help.”

Ben actually laughed at the deliberately teasing tone in Hux’ voice, though the laugh dissolved into a pained groan as he buried his face in his hands.

“I…. uhm, I hope I didn’t look too stupid last night?” he asked, hunching over into himself, as Hux was realizing he did when he would rather have had the ability to disappear. “Actually, no, don’t- don’t tell me. I haven’t been drunk in years, I don’t want to know what drunk me looks like nowadays.” When he looked up at Hux through splayed fingers, he drew his hand down the side of his face, mashing his features together. Somehow, it did nothing to detract from his loveliness. “As for food… I’m not sure you’d ever even turned on the stove before I showed up here. You sure you can handle the toaster? I don’t want to see the kitchen on fire on top of all this.” His voice was muffled with the way his hand was pressed into his cheek, contorting his mouth, and Hux chuckled his affront.

“Why, you cheeky little…” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’ll have you know you looked just as irresistible last night as you do right now. I thought I’d made that quite clear over the course of the evening, but if you’ve forgotten already, I’ll just have to show you again. But first - toast.” Feeling rather like a trouble-maker at the back of the class, Hux smoothed a hand over the wild nest of Ben’s hair. “You’re not keeping a bird in here, are you?” he asked, struggling to keep his tone from losing its seriousness as he peered into the dark strands as if he was looking for something. “I think I may have just seen a feather.” When Ben swatted at him, Hux barely managed to dodge the hit, half-hearted as it was, and with his reflexes slowed by the remnants of last night’s _Nyetimber R_ _osé_ , he knew better than to press his luck in an attempt to one up Ben’s teasing. He would probably lose anyway - Hux could hardly compete with Ben’s quicksilver wit on a good day.  

“Shhh now, love, you’ve won this one,” Hux assured him, catching his hand and tangling their fingers together loosely over Ben’s stomach. “You know, I think we still have some of that bread you put together a couple of days ago, and I have a feeling a few bites of that slathered with some strawberry jam just might do the trick. What do you say? Are you willing to brave the kitchen or would you rather I brought breakfast back in here for the two of us and told Phasma to get the hell out for the rest of the day? I’m happy to do either, and I give you my word neither option will end in my burning the apartment down with our toaster.”

“Nah, I can go with you to the kitchen,” Ben sighed, gently untangling himself from Ethan so he could reach for his shirt - still not entirely comfortable being this bare, even in front of the man he loved. “We need to feed Millie, anyway, before she tries to get in the cupboard.”

Getting to his feet, he went over to the closet to retrieve his sweatpants, sighing in relief as he pulled them on and felt some of the cold dissipate. It wasn’t the most stylish he’d ever felt - rumpled shirt and sweatpants, and his skin still carrying that obvious smell of their little tumble in the sheets - and he made a valiant effort to quickly comb his fingers through his hair to tame it a little. He didn’t get bedhead a lot, but when he did, it was epic, and he hated it. A long shower would have to be the next thing on the list, right after coffee. Though part of him took some sort of weird pride in being in this state, knowing that Ethan had been the one to make him look like this, his awkwardness had begun to set in, and he wasn’t sure he could handle showering with Ethan yet. His partner was the most gorgeous man Ben knew, and right now Ben’s nerves were a little bit too frazzled to deal with the... full scope of it, as it were.

“Y-you want the shower first, or can I? I- I’m sorry, I don’t, uhm, feel too hot right now, and I-... It’s not that I don’t want to shower with you, if- uhm, if you’d want that, but I think I just need those minutes alone. I’m sorry, I’m being weird again.”

Ethan hurried over, halfway through getting into his own shirt, which was - Ben noticed with shy pride - every bit as rumpled as his own, and gently cradled his face between his hands, kissing him softly.

“Not weird. Not a problem. Got it? The shower isn’t going anywhere, and neither am I,” he assured him. “It’s probably for the best, anyway. I need to get myself together if I’m going to be of any use at all today, and Phasma could stand to spend a little time waiting if she plans to stick around. You take as long as you need. In fact, why don’t you take this shower, and I’ll head over to the guest room? What’s the point in having a penthouse with so many bathrooms if we only make use of one of them?”

Ben nodded, and Ethan kissed him softly again, before they headed for the kitchen. The smell of coffee greeted them as soon as they exited the bedroom, and so did a very displeased Millicent, who had apparently been shut out of the room the night before, and now came thundering out from Ben’s art studio with a loud ‘ _mrrrrreeoww._ ’ Ben picked her up, and as always, she went completely limp in his arms - one back leg sticking straight up, all her little toes spread out as far as they could go. Ben kissed her head and she immediately began purring loud enough it made them both wince.

Ben pointedly ignored Phasma, who was hovering near the barstools at the kitchen counter, and instead left Ethan to deal with her while he fed Millie. He could feel her eyes on him, but he just couldn’t make himself even look at her right now - it was too much. He was still angry, still upset, still feeling the tinge of adrenaline in his mouth from being so brutally woken up. He needed space, needed time, needed to _not deal with this right now_ , and if Phasma minded, then too bad. If the tension in his muscles was anything to go by, the only thing that would come of him having to interact with her right now would be more shouting, and possibly even breaking of things - and he didn’t want that to ever happen again. Didn’t want to see the looks on their faces, the way fear crept into their eyes, how their gazes would start to flicker, start searching for a way out, a way to get away from him, how they would stop looking at him like a person and start looking at him like an animal, a rabid dog. Like someone they shouldn’t trust, like someone they should leave as fast as they could. He wouldn’t survive being left again, he knew it.

Once Millie had been fed, he straightened up and turned to head back into the bedroom before Phasma’s staring got to him. As he turned around, though, he was met with Phasma’s outstretched hand, offering a mug full of coffee. It was black, which Ben normally never drank, but he couldn’t make himself say it right now - he needed the caffeine to get his brain to kick itself back into some sort of gear. Still not looking at her, he took the mug, went and poured some milk into it, then promptly left the kitchen. Once back in the safety of the bedroom, he curled up in the armchair by the window, holding his mug between his shaking hands as he tried to focus on how nice the heat of it felt against his skin. As soon as he had finished his coffee, he would get to go hide in the shower, and with how he was currently feeling, that sounded like the best promise in the entire world.

\---

In the kitchen, Phasma handed Hux the other mug she’d been holding, an embarrassed and somewhat apologetic smile on her face.

"Okay, so my access to your apartment clearly stops at the bedroom door. I should have known that,” she said. “But hopefully the kitchen still isn’t off limits? I’ve spent rather a lot of time familiarizing myself with how you take your coffee.” When Hux didn’t immediately answer, she shifted a little on her feet and extended a mug to him as well, the coffee inside a milky white. “I really upset him, didn’t I?” Her voice was soft, her eyes tracked on the bedroom door Ben had closed behind him.

Hux snatched the coffee from her hand, blowing on it before taking an experimental sip. He should have refused it on principle, he knew - would have thrown it back in her face in some sort of grand gesture were he a stronger, less hungover man - but it really _did_ look just the right color, like she’d cut it with exactly the right amount of milk, and she knew him well enough that there was no question she’d reached for the soy milk in the back of the refrigerator. The loss of the coffee wasn’t worth the display, and when he took his first swallow, his eyes fluttered closed at the trail of warmth it burned down the back of his throat.

“You could say that,” he said, as cool as the coffee was warm, once the burn of caffeine had hit his veins and the pleasant sweetness of sugar had coated the back of his teeth, clamping down the sigh of relief that threatened to escape. He didn’t want to look _too_ grateful. “One might even say you owe him more of an apology than a cup of coffee that isn’t even made to his specifications, but who am I to judge? After all, I’m just the prick whose best friend would think so lowly of him as to accuse him of…” Hux let the sentence hang. The apartment was quiet between them, and when it became clear Phasma didn’t have anything to say, he raised an eyebrow, studying his coffee, an unexpected hurt squeezing in his chest as he ran a finger over the rim. “Of, well - you know.”

Phasma looked stung at that, placing her own half-empty mug of coffee in the sink and wiping her hands on the towel Ben insisted they leave out in case of spills. Her hair was as perfectly coiffed as ever, her hot pink blazer, complete with a jewel-encrusted pin on the lapel, something out of _Harper’s Bazaar,_ but she looked like she might have held back a few tears while Hux had comforted Ben in the bedroom, like she still might be holding them back now, blinking quickly. Strange, he thought, he had never known her to be the type to sniffle because she’d hurt someone’s feelings, but then again, neither had he known her to be the type to leave her coffee un-drunk - yet here she was, already reaching for her coat, which she’d left draped over one of the barstools.

“Hux, you know I wouldn’t… I’d never think -”

“Save it, Phasma,” he interrupted, shaking his head as he sipped at his coffee. “You made it perfectly clear what you thought, and I’m not even going to argue that it was unfounded. There’s nothing you need to make up to me. Consider it forgotten.” It wasn’t - not really - but it would be, given time, just the way the two of them never mentioned the morning they’d woken up on the subway back from Queens, Hux sprawled across three of the seats, Phasma missing one of her shoes, though Hux didn’t believe for one damn second that she didn’t remember what had brought them there. It would fade into the backdrop of their friendship, just like everything else; it was just what they did. “I already know all of your dirty secrets, remember? It’s Ben you’re going to need to convince.”

Still Phasma didn’t answer, just shrugged the jacket onto her shoulders, one side of her mouth turned up sadly as she turned to walk to the door, but when she passed by Hux, he reached out to grab her by the arm.

“Phasma,” he said, allowing his voice to soften just a little when she turned toward him, half in profile. “He’s _Ben_. You might not know know him like I do - you haven’t seen him this past month. But he’s - he’s going to forgive you. Just give him time, and for god’s sake, don’t come barging into the bedroom again. The next time, you might not be quite so lucky.”  

Phasma’s smile widened at the change in Hux’ tone, however slight, her eyes a bit less shiny than they had been as she reached into the pocket of her jacket to search for her keys. “You know, I _did_ say I was going to throw a parade-”

“Now’s not the time,” Hux huffed, exasperated in a way that wouldn’t quite be fond again for some time, and he gave her a little shove toward the door. Trust Phasma to rekindle her need to provoke him the moment she realized she had a chance of being forgiven. “I’ve got to go check on my partner, and you’ve got to go think of an appropriate way of apologizing to Ben. Might I suggest lots of crying? It worked wonders for me. But that’s a story for another time.”  He tapped his lip. “Oh, and a gift. Chocolates, perhaps? Not because he’s going to require it, but because _I_ am. He’s likely to let you off far too easily once this has all blown over.”

Once Phasma had left, the door shut soundly behind her, Hux stood in the kitchen, nursing his coffee and contemplating when exactly he’d become the more logical of the two of them until he heard the shower in the master bathroom shut off. Then, giving Ben time to dry and dress, he set about making thin slices of the leftover bread Ben had baked - it was still moist, the crust delightfully flaky, even a few days later. (Ben knew the secrets to ensuring it stayed that way, and Hux was happy to reap the rewards while remaining in the dark about the sorcery behind it.) Perhaps he had gone too easily on Phasma, he considered, as he slathered the first of the slices with jam, licking the knife clean in between with only a token amount of guilt. His tongue had been in Ben’s mouth and just about everywhere else on him the night before; certainly he wouldn’t mind a trace of his spit in his strawberry jam.

Ben liked Phasma, Hux told himself. They’d been fast friends, and Ben needed all the friends he could get; it only made sense that he would help to lay the groundwork for their reconciliation. After all, he suspected Ben would want to make up soon enough, probably sooner than Hux would like - and that was proven true when, after he’d arranged the toast and jam on a tray, he brought it into the bedroom to find Ben in the middle of their bed. He was once again wrapped up in their blankets, his long legs crossed as his hair dripped onto the sheets, still looking miserable and now half-drowned to boot. One look at the way Ben had torn at his cuticle while in the shower, and Hux swore she had better get her hands on some damn _good_ chocolate if Phasma ever wanted to set foot in this apartment again.  

\---

A week later, Mitaka saw the inside of their penthouse for the first time. It wasn’t a friendly invitation - though Hux got the distinct feeling Ben thought it _should_ have been. The man was Hux’ assistant, and Hux had instructed him to drop by with a briefcase full of papers he’d had drawn up over the past several days. That was what assistants _did,_ as far as Hux understood the definition of the word - they assisted with things, all manner of them. Sometimes this extended to matters outside of the office, but that didn’t mean that the two of them were friends. Chums. Pals. Anything of the sort. Hux was Mitaka’s boss, not his confidant - it was that simple. Ben, however, had other ideas, and the day of Mitaka’s visit found him in the kitchen - which in itself wasn’t surprising, if he wasn’t painting, he was cooking, if he was feeling well enough to do anything at all - spooning batter into a muffin tin Hux couldn’t remember ever purchasing.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” Hux commented from his perch at the counter, looking up from the screen of his laptop and pushing up the sleeve of the oversized sweater he wore. Though the hard copies of the papers he’d requested wouldn’t arrive until Mitaka did, he’d had his legal team send over the digital copies for him to peruse ahead of time. “Mitaka works for me, in case you’ve forgotten. This is his _job.”_   

Ben wrinkled his nose in response, methodically measuring out the batter of what would be one of the cupcakes he was working on with a sense of artistry only Ben could manage. The first batch was already baking away in the oven, filling the entire apartment, as big as it was, with the scent of vanilla and the richest dark chocolate Hux had ever smelled, making his mouth water. Ben had a way of looking almost disgustingly domestic whenever he was elbows deep in a mixing bowl - he didn’t wear an apron, but he might as well have, with the way the batter splattered the dark denim he was wearing, his feet bare and his hair now just long enough that he’d gathered the top of it into a messy imitation of a miniature bun to keep it from falling into his face.  

“It’s _Saturday,”_ Ben argued. “Office people don’t usually work Saturdays, and I can hardly believe he’s okay with spend it here with us. I mean, he probably has a family or something.”  He gave a shake of his head, crossing his eyes when a strand of his hair escaped the band that he was using to control it and landed directly on his nose. “And come on, you almost asked him to hang a painting on _Christmas._ Seriously, if anyone deserves a cupcake, it’s him!”

“Ah-ah. _Almost,”_ Hux tutted, wagging a finger. “That’s the operative word there, sweet. I _almost_ asked him to hang a painting on Christmas. I didn’t actually go through with it, if you’ll remember.”

Ben laughed in disbelief. “Yeah, because I told you not to, so sorry, but that doesn’t count!” The look he gave Hux said he was questioning how he’d had the poor luck to fall in love with someone so hopeless, as, quickly growing irritated with his hair, Ben wiped his forearm across his face. The strand had stuck to the sweat on his forehead - even in winter, the oven made it warmer in the kitchen than the rest of the apartment - but instead of dislodging it, he only managed to smear batter over the bridge of his nose as well, and Hux just raised an eyebrow at his distress, his gaze returning to the safety of his laptop before he allowed himself a smile at Ben’s expense.

Since the day Jessika had fallen in love with Ben’s designs, Hux had been convinced it wouldn’t do to allow Imperial to take the credit for what his partner had created, but at first, he hadn’t known what to do about it. Should he offer Ben the opportunity to return to Imperial - this time as a member of his graphic design team? The position that had been open since October still hadn’t been filled, and while Ben had obviously been miserable in his administrative department - as the last of the small cracks left unrepaired in the glass panel between two of his cubicles could attest -  he was feeling better now than he had been in the fall. Was healthier. And there was no doubt graphic design aligned more naturally with his skill set. Perhaps Ben had only been so miserable because he had been forced into a position that was so ill-suited for him.

...except Hux knew that wasn’t the case. For as much as Ben loved his art, he’d never be happy spending his days in an office at Imperial. Imperial whose doors saw people numbering in the hundreds both enter and leave on the slowest of days. Whether Ben would encounter each of them or not, the energy there was too frantic, and Hux refused to put him through that again, just the thought alone enough to make his stomach drop.

After that, Hux had considered briefly naming Ben as an artistic influence for the project, but that hardly seemed fair. He wasn’t an influence - the work was _his_ , every line, from start to finish. A _“with special thanks to”_ would never be fitting for what Ben had contributed, and Hux had thrown that idea out almost as soon as he’d thought of it. He hadn’t mentioned any of it to Ben, knowing that his partner would have insisted no credit was necessary; instead, he’d mulled it over in silence until - miracle of miracles - a meeting with Jessika had given Hux the answer to his predicament.  

“What’s his name?” Jessika had asked, leafing through print-outs of the logo Ben had designed for her, the gradient and color of the tree’s bare branches varying slightly in each one. “The creative consultant you called in to work on this? I know you said he didn’t work for Imperial, but you really should consider bringing him on full time.”  

In that instant, sitting across from her at his desk, Hux’ eyes had lit up, the solution he’d been searching for becoming so clear that he had to wonder at what kind of idiot he was that he hadn’t thought of it right away. _Of course._ He’d take Ben on as a creative consultant for the project - and not just for this one, for others. If he wanted to, that was. Hux couldn’t have dreamt of a better scenario. Ben could assist on those projects that inspired him, but there’d be no pressure to perform when faced when those that didn’t, or when he wasn’t feeling capable of it. And it took care of the pesky issue of having Ben as an employee of his, which didn’t set well with Hux at all. He’d told Ben once that he didn’t need another employee, and that was that; as soon as he’d herded Jessika onto the elevator and down to the exit, he’d gone to his legal team and asked them to draw up a contract.  

Ben had sputtered and flushed at the suggestion when Hux had first mentioned it, over hot chocolate after dinner a few nights ago, but for once, this was a subject on which Ben couldn’t sway his decision. And for all his protestations, the fact that he was now puttering away in the kitchen, baking cupcakes for Hux’ _assistant -_ who he had never even met, had only ever spoken to on the phone the one time Ben had needed to call the office when Hux had mistakenly left his phone on silent - indicated he wasn’t as averse to the idea as he had been.

“I hope you’re not planning on sending those all home with Mitaka,” Hux teased, leaning over on his stool to swipe a finger into one of the cupcakes still waiting for the oven. “He doesn’t really have a family, you know, and he could never be as appreciative of your cooking as I am.” Ben was quick to try to bat him away, but Hux was quicker, and he popped his finger into his mouth, making a noise that sufficed as proof of his claim. The batter was _heavenly,_ whipped until it was fluffy, the chunk of dark chocolate he’d taken along with it the perfect complement to the vanilla, and he eyed the remaining cupcakes with undisguised longing.

Ben just narrowed his eyes in a way that said he was one wrong move away from being whacked across the knuckles with the spatula he was using to fix the divot in the cupcake Hux had just ruined, which Hux took as his cue to begin scrolling through the documents on his laptop screen. In addition to the contract that would, in essence, make Ben an independent contractor who Imperial had sourced to work on the project, there was an agreement that named Ben co-owner of everything in the penthouse, as well as Hux’ fleet of cars and anything else that had Hux’ name attached to it. Hux hadn’t told Ben about that part yet - though he’d already said as much and meant it, to have it set in stone carried a different weight, one he wanted to Ben to fully grasp as he put pen to paper. While he suspected it was a possibility Ben wouldn’t want to consider, there were never any guarantees that something wouldn’t happen to him. Hux might have _felt_ healthy enough, but heart problems ran in his family, and he didn’t trust his father not to pull something awful if it came down to it. Hux couldn’t allow that.

“Ben, love,” he said, shutting his laptop and pushing it out of the way so he could cross his arms on the counter in front of him. He waited for Ben to stand up from where he was bent in front of the oven, removing the first batch of cupcakes to make room for the second, before continuing. “What would you say if I told you that I promise not to touch another one of your cupcakes in exchange for your acceptance of some terms I may have neglected to mention that you’ll find outlined in our contract?” When Ben’s only answer was to slip off an oven mitt and look at him quizzically, Hux cleared his throat. “I - uh. Well, that is-” He bit his tongue. Mitaka would be over in a just a few minutes; he had to get the words out now, not waste time tripping over them. “I want to name you half-owner, Ben. Of everything. Just in case - and I don’t plan on going anywhere for a long, long time, but you know, just in case something were to happen to me - I want you not to have to worry. I don’t want anyone to think - not for one damned second - that everything here isn’t _ours._ ”

His proposal complete, Hux cocked his head. “Do you think that’s something you might be amenable to signing?”

Ben just stared at him. He swore he could feel the blood leaving his head, and he had to lean against the counter as he suddenly felt more than a little dizzy. Did Ethan just…? He didn’t… He couldn’t just have said… No. No, this had to be some sort of hallucination, delusion… _thing._ A joke maybe. He’d never thought Ethan to be that cruel, that he would play that kind of joke on Ben, but… But he didn’t _look_ like he was joking. He looked absolutely serious, and Ben’s mind promptly blanked out. ‘Everything’ was a pretty big word - too big for Ben’s brain to process. Ethan’s level of ‘everything’ was on a whole other level than other people’s, and surely, he had to mean it just figuratively, right? He couldn’t actually be saying… No. _No way_.

“E-everything…?” he croaked once he’d finally managed to re-establish some sort of connection between brain and mouth. “I-I don’t even- I… ‘Half of’ what? What does that even mean? E-Ethan, y-you can’t possibly-... can’t possibly be saying what I think you’re saying. I- I don’t, uhm… Just... what _are_ you saying?”

“Everything,” Ethan repeated, nodding. “It means exactly what it sounds like. The penthouse and all the belongings inside. The cars. My back accounts. Imperial. Half of if is yours - all of it, in the event of my death.” He laid a hand across Ben’s fingers, still slightly sticky from the batter. “You don’t have to sign it if you don’t want to; in practice, nothing will change if you don’t. Read it through. You won’t find a thing in the agreement that isn’t already true in everything but legality, but I must admit: it would be a relief to have it in writing as well.”

“I-...I think I need to sit down.”

If Ben had felt a little pale before, it was nothing compared to now, and sitting down became such an acute need that he did just that - he sat down right there on the floor, causing Ethan to abandon his spot on the chair to hurry over and help him put his head between his knees and breathe.

“But I don’t…” he squeaked. “Y-you can’t. I haven’t… I don’t deserve that. And-... and… I would never ask… y-you know that, right? T-that I don’t care about- about your stuff… your- your money? Please, I don’t want you to think that of me - that I’m one of, y-you know, those people. And I don’t want to think about you not being here, and now I do and it scares me, and- and y-you’re serious about this. Oh my God. You’re serious. I-I’m dizzy.”

“I’m sorry, darling. I could have phrased that more delicately, couldn’t I have?” Ethan murmured between kisses to his exposed neck. “I should have known it would be too much to throw that at you like I did. But Mitaka is on his way, and I didn’t want to do it front of him and you _do_ deserve it, you know that, don’t you? All of it. Whether or not you give a damn about the things I can offer you - and you’re the only person I’ve ever met who hasn’t - it’s important to _me_ that you’re safe and protected. That, come what may, there can be no question that this is your home. That you can be secure in the knowledge that no one else is going to lay a finger on it without your permission. This is _yours,_ Ben, as am I - now I suggest you dry your eyes, because I won’t be going anywhere without a fight.”

They sat like that for a little while, Ben trying to hide the fact that he’d been so overwhelmed and happy that he’d started crying out of sheer instinct. Ethan had, of course, noticed, and held him closer - rocking him gently and kissing his hair, then his cheeks, once Ben managed to lift his head again, then his nose, followed by one of those long, sweet kisses that always left Ben breathless. They were gentle, always gentle, but at the same time had an intensity to them that effectively rendered him unable to form a coherent thought for a good while afterwards. That was definitely a good thing in the current situation, and once he’d managed to collect himself a little, Ben let Ethan help him back to his feet so he could go wash his face and change into a pair of jeans not covered in cupcake batter and flour.

Sure, Ethan had said he didn’t mind that look on Ben at all, and that Mitaka wouldn’t care, but it was still important to Ben to know he’d given a good first impression in some way. It wasn’t as if it would last; legal stuff had never been something he was good at, and it made him nervous every time he had to deal with it - and, of course, when Ben got nervous, he got awkward, and when he got awkward he started stuttering and mumbling, and just generally forgetting how to do words. Knowing he at least looked presentable when Mitaka arrived was important, because that would still count as some sort of sign that he wasn’t _completely_ hopeless. If he could dress and style himself properly, then he would still communicate some level of social competence, even if it didn’t translate to his verbal skills, and he just didn’t want to do _anything_ that would make anyone wonder what Ethan saw in him. Ben could conduct himself in public - it wasn’t that - he just needed a lot of time to prepare himself, and right now… well, he didn’t feel as prepared as he would have liked, and with Ethan springing this last bit on him like that… To say that Ben was reeling would have been an understatement.

At least they weren’t going to some other place - the thought of doing all of this at some lawyer’s office almost had him hyperventilating from terror. New places freaked him out to begin with. New places, full of complete strangers who knew all this technical stuff that might as well have been written in hieroglyphs as far as Ben was concerned? He’d rather get hit by a bus, thank you very much.

He could probably have handled this better if he hadn’t been feeling so goddamn frail over the last week since the whole… _drama_ with Phasma. While he knew, logically, that recovery was never a linear process, and that setbacks always happened, it didn’t help him much when he’d had five panic attacks so far, enough crawling anxiety and intrusive thoughts that Ethan had come home from work early two days in a row - despite Ben telling him he didn’t have to - and the night before he’d had nightmares bad enough to even _wake his poor partner up_. Which was quite the feat, considering how heavy a sleeper Ethan was. No, Ben was definitely not in his best mental place at the moment, but he also knew that he had to keep moving forward, couldn’t let himself slip back fully again. What was scheduled for today was a good thing, and when Ethan had asked if he’d rather re-schedule it for a day when he felt better, Ben had said no. He needed this. It would wear him out, sure, but he needed to know that he had done it, that he _could_ do it. Ethan had agreed, but rearranged things so that instead of a bunch of lawyers coming over, it would just be Mitaka - and though Ben had only ever heard what he sounded like on the phone, he seemed nice enough, and Ben felt a lot safer with the situation now than he would otherwise have.

Once he’d changed into another pair of dark jeans, and found one of his softest shirts - a deep, rich purple that Ethan said looked like it was made just for him - and a mismatched pair of striped socks, he felt a bit more ready to face the day. The mismatch was intentional - it made him happy, so he went with it, completely ignoring Ethan’s teasing every time he found Ben sorting the socks after laundry. As he headed back towards the kitchen, the doorbell rang, signalling the arrival of Mitaka and the all the important papers. Ben froze for a second - answering the door was something he’d always hated doing - but luckily, Ethan was just coming over to do it for him, gesturing for Ben to continue on to the kitchen.

“The oven just made a dinging sound,” he said as they passed each other, giving Ben a quick kiss. “I was going to take the cupcakes out, but then I looked inside, and they looked rather… well, fragile. On second thought, I think you’re better equipped to handle them than I am, so if you’ll go see what the ovens wants, Mitaka and I will join you in the kitchen in just a moment.”

\---

When Dopheld Mitaka landed the position as personal assistant of Mr Ethan Hux, he had been made to read through an extensive list of rules and expectations regarding both his job and his personal life before any papers would be signed. Most of the points regarding his personal life were about him not having much of one, but Mitaka had been alright with that. He had always looked up to Mr Hux, had attended the same university, and had been as awestruck as everyone else by his brilliant mind. While Mitaka had realized early on that he wasn’t suited to run a business of his own - the leadership role went against every fiber in him - he had also come to realize, through a rather interesting series of jobs, that he was very good at being an assistant. He was quite gifted when it came to organizing, memorizing, planning, and all of the various other skills his position required - and moreover, he also knew himself well enough to know that he genuinely enjoyed making life a little easier for other people. He’d never actually thought he’d get the job when he sent his application to the newly established Imperial Marketing, but in the end - and this he had learned later on - he was the only one they called in for the interview, the only one Mr Hux would even consider. So after a gauntlet of a combined interview and trial day, Mr Hux had given him the papers to read through, and then he’d been signed on as Mr Hux’ assistant.

In the years since, he’d learned a lot about Mr Hux himself. He knew exactly how he took his coffee, in what situations the coffee would be replaced by tea, when to knock on his door, when _not_ to knock on his door. He could tell Mr Hux’ mood from the way he carried his briefcase, knew whether or not a deal would go through just by looking at the set of his jaw, could tell exactly the right moment when he needed to step in and act as middle-man between Mr Hux and whichever poor sod that had managed to step over one of their CEO’s many boundaries. It wasn’t that Mr Hux was a mean or cruel man - he simply set the bar for everyone else at the same level as he’d set it for himself, and didn’t quite seem to realize that not everyone had an intellect as dazzling as his. He also knew, though he’d rather die than ever tell, that Mr Hux had - for the longest time - been probably the loneliest person Mitaka had ever met, and he had worried about him. Because, while it wasn’t part of his job, Mitaka did like Mr Hux - frightening as he might have been - and it made his heart ache to know that this brilliant, incredible man, didn’t have anyone to come home to. It just seemed so… _sad_.

...And then October had happened, and it had done something to Mr Hux as well. There was a time when Mitaka could look at the clock and say exactly where Mr Hux was and what he was doing just from that, but October changed everything. Mr Hux skipped work, for the first time ever, after that strange incident down in admin. Then he was smiling, a lot. He was as demanding and strict as he had ever been, but he said ‘thank you’ much more often, even added a ‘good job, Mitaka’ here and there. Mitaka was a smarter man than most people thought he was, and he guessed it had something to do with a man. He had that look to him; that love-struck look that spoke of both happiness and absolute, paralysing fear. Then came November, and Mitaka would gladly sell his soul to never have to think about those weeks ever again. Until that time, most of Mitaka’s anxiety where Mr Hux was concerned stemmed from his own deep-seated fear of disappointing those he looked up to. But that November had frightened him half-way out of his mind, because Mr Hux had seemed to him less a man and more some sort of… demon. A devil in human disguise, and even Mitaka - who would normally always rush to Mr Hux’ defense - had gone home with tears pouring down his face more than once.

Then something had happened again, and Mr Hux had been off work for almost a week, before coming back - happier than Mitaka had ever seen him, and he knew it had to have something to do with this ‘Ben’ person he always called during his breaks. Mitaka was happy for him, he really was, but until just a couple of weeks ago, he had really wondered what sort of man Mr Hux could possibly be romantically involved with. Then Ben had called him, apologizing profusely for disturbing him, before asking - in the sweetest, most polite voice Mitaka had ever heard - if he could perhaps ask Mr Hux to call him back when he had the time, because Ben had tried his phone and he felt bad about calling if Hux was in the middle of something important. Mitaka had spent the rest of the day attempting to figure out what sort of person could be attached to that voice. He sounded so young!

And now, as he was being guided inside Mr Hux’ penthouse - by Mr Hux himself, no less - he would finally come face to face with this mysterious man who had so completely transformed his boss. The penthouse itself was a lot to take in; the interior decorators had done one hell of a job here - everything about it was just… exquisite, and he tried his best to school his expression into something professional, lest he just stand there gaping like some idiot. On the huge wall they just passed was a mural, and at that point he had to stop and stare, because it was stunning! The New York skyline, in vibrant, bold colours and messy brushstrokes - Imperial Marketing’s high-rise smack in the centre, the logo standing out against the black colour the rest of the building was painted in. He recognized the style from the portrait they had hung in Mr Hux’ office the other week, and it was strange to him that this artist hadn’t had an exhibition in one - if not all - of the major galleries in the city.

“Quite extraordinary, isn’t it?” Mr Hux smiled next to him. “It’s my favourite part of the entire apartment. Ben is an absolute genius. Speaking of, you haven’t officially met!” Mitaka found himself ushered towards the kitchen, where a tall young man - a distractingly handsome one at that - was working on something on the other side of the high counter. “Ben, love, this is Mitaka, my assistant.”

The young man, Ben, looked up, and gave a shy smile that had Mitaka think of sunrises and angels and soft, sweet things. He had the most glorious hair, dark brown (or was it actually black?), that fell in large waves and curls, around a pale face dotted by freckles and moles. He had brown eyes that were kind, shy, sad, and mischievous all at once - a combination Mitaka had previously not thought possible - and as his mouth curled into a sweet smile, Mitaka understood exactly why Mr Hux had fallen for him. He was beautiful, and that smile was the sort of smile that men would go to war for. Mitaka sure would, and he didn’t even know the man!

“Mitaka, hi!” Ben greeted, extending a hand. “Thank you so much for coming over. I know it’s your day off and everything, and I’m really sorry for the inconvenience. It’s not much of a compensation, I know,  but I thought a few cupcakes might help make it a little more bearable. You okay with chocolate and vanilla?” He picked something up from the counter, and sure thing, it was a cupcake - still steaming a little from just leaving the oven, and it smelled like heaven.

“I-it’s not an inconvenience, I assure you,” Mitaka managed - painfully aware of the fact that Mr Hux was watching their exchange, something of a warning in his gaze. He was obviously quite protective of Ben, and Mitaka knew that if he turned the offer down, Mr Hux would probably murder him. “It’s an honour to finally meet you, Mr Solo. I-... uhm, yes, I would love a cupcake, thank you very much. They smell absolutely lovely.”

“Just ‘Ben,' please,” Ben smiled as he handed the cupcake over. “Ethan said you wouldn’t mind, but I didn’t feel like taking his word for it. We all know he’d work seven days a week himself if he could get away with it, so I wanted to make sure you knew we really appreciate you taking the time to drop by, even on your day off.”

“I would not!” Mr Hux huffed, as he reached for a cupcake of his own, only to be smacked across the fingers with an oven-mitt. “Seven days a week? _Really,_ Ben!”

“You bring the coffee pot with you to the table, then you can have a cupcake,” Ben said, as he quickly gathered the treats onto a platter. “You can have cupcakes whenever you want - I baked these for Mitaka, so he has first dibs on them.”

Mitaka could not believe what he was seeing. Ben had just… _smacked_ Mr Hux across the fingers as if he was a misbehaving kid, and Mr Hux just _smiled_? Had anyone else on the face of this Earth done that, Mr Hux would have tossed them out a window!

“Mitaka, if you can manage to stop gaping long enough to compose yourself, I think it’s time we begin. There’s no use wasting any more of the day than necessary,” Mr Hux instructed, gathering three mugs in the crook of his arm. “Just bring the documents over to the table and have a seat. No, not the seat by the window - that’s Ben’s chair, he likes the lighting there - but you can sit on the other side if you’d like. Just make sure you use a coaster. Did you know the founding fathers once dined around this table?” he said conversationally. “It’s the only one like it in the entire country. Of course the value would be irrevocably damaged were it to be stained with water rings.”

_“Ethan!”_ Ben exclaimed at the implied threat, “Be _nice_!” His tone was sharp, scolding, Mr Hux’ cheeks going pink as his mouth snapped closed, and then was he dutifully arranging the mugs on the table - _sans_ coasters. Mitaka just stared, sinking into the chair that Ben had pulled out for him with apprehension. Mr Hux was… he was _blushing,_ and that was when Mitaka truly realized: everything’d he previously known to be true about his boss no longer applied. At least not around Ben.

\---

There were clauses to be read through, dotted lines to be signed, segments that Mitaka had to explain so that Ben understood what he was agreeing to, and then yet more lines that required signing - so many that both Ben and Hux’ signatures had become sloppy by the time they reached the last of them. It lasted well into the afternoon and required more than one refill of the coffee pot, but at the end of it all, Mitaka had a box of cupcakes tucked under his arm to take home with him and Ben found himself the proud new owner of the most expensive view in the city, as well as a Mustang he wasn’t sure he wanted to drive and a marketing firm he would have had no idea what to do with had Hux asked.

And as for Ethan? Well, there was a pair of cupcakes that had his name on them. They still sat on the platter in the center of the table, having narrowly escaped the box Ben had made up for Mitaka, and as he was finally allowed to sink his teeth into one, rich and fluffy even hours after coming out of the oven, he decided that he had, perhaps, made out better in this deal than anyone else.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you for being patient with us throughout the month it took us to craft this update. We hope that the little bit of smut - and the cupcakes - have sufficed to make the wait worth it. If you have any thoughts or comments, you can always send them our way over at tumblr - Loke at ficlet-machine and Cat at thegoodlannister, as always. Happy reading!


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Mention of disordered eating.

As January became February, the New York winter stretched on - it had always felt that way to Hux, that the cold in the months leading up to the first of the year wasn’t so unbearable, the memory of the trees shedding their leaves in the autumn not so far away, but that the months following came in a slow march, muddied snow piling up on the sides of the road and refreezing into treacherous ice. It was part of the year Hux liked least, as well as the part that seemed to last the longest - and yet, this year, Hux found it difficult to come up with reasons to complain, even when accompanying Ben to his doctor’s appointments meant dressing the both of them in so many layers it was difficult to move and then shedding them the moment they were indoors, instantly sweating in the artificial heat. Watching the tip of Ben’s nose become red with the cold and knowing better than to comment, twining their equally frozen fingers together on the occasions that brought them out of the apartment and down onto the street, tucking Ben’s hand into his pocket when that didn’t do the trick anymore, doing up his scarf for him and then pulling him in for a kiss - all of this made the shortened days of winter less of a chore and more of a lesson in all the reasons he could use for touching his partner.

Inside the penthouse, it remained as warm as ever, the collection of Ben’s paintings growing by the day, as Hux discovered the array of cooking utensils that had somehow come to occupy his kitchen without his knowledge. There was the sifter, which looked like no utensil Hux had ever seen but that Ben insisted they run all dry ingredients through before they were added to the mixing bowl. And that was wasn’t even the strangest of them - the next cupboard over housed something called a “lemon press.” But it was Millicent who reaped the greatest reward from Ben’s skill in the kitchen. His household cat, who had been fat to begin with, had packed on a pound or two - a curse of the winter months that, it appeared, extended beyond humans to affect household pets as well. Whenever she hopped up onto him - only at those times when Ben was engaged in something that rendered his lap unavailable, of course - he let out an _“oomph”_ that may have been a slight exaggeration and that earned him an offended look. And from his own damn cat at that!  

Where she’d learned how to beg Hux wasn’t sure, but while Ben maintained that too much human food wouldn’t be good for her, she managed to weasel her way into a taste of whatever his partner was cooking more often than not.

Even at Imperial, Ben’s presence permeated everything Hux did, a warmth tingling at the back of his mind reminding him that, whatever he chose - be it business or personal - it had better be good for the both of them. If Hux hadn’t known better, he would have sworn Mitaka had fallen in love with Ben in the hours the three of them had spent together the day he’d joined them at the penthouse. His assistant still hadn’t stopped talking about Ben’s cupcakes, nor about Ben himself. He asked after him everyday now, which was more often than he asked after Hux himself - something that would have given Hux reason to take offense had he not been so keen on talking about his partner whenever the opportunity presented itself. (And sometimes when it didn’t.) So far, Mitaka had learned Ben’s preferred brands of watercolor paints, as well as the grocer where he liked to order his fresh fruits and vegetables in Midtown and the episodes of _Doctor Who_ he named among his favorites in descending order from one through ten.

Hux considered all of this prudent information for his assistant to know - how else would Mitaka step up if Hux himself ever wasn’t available to cater to Ben’s needs? And if Mitaka ever thought otherwise, he didn’t say anything about it, instead making note of Ben’s preferences with as much diligence as he’d ever done with Hux’ own.

Ben’s design for Jessika’s design firm - called simply _jessika,_ per Hux’ suggestion - was the talk of the New York marketing scene, not that Hux paid any mind to that. It was when people _weren’t_ talking about Imperial that they were in trouble, so when Mitaka alerted him to a picture that had run in several of the tabloids - grainy and out-of-focus but clear enough that there was no mistaking the back of Ben’s head tucked into Hux’ shoulder as he tried to shield him from the flash - Hux took pains to ensure he was the one who broke the news to Ben, and as gently as possible. It had been snapped the night Hux had taken him out to _Daniel,_ but he couldn’t bring himself to regret the spur of the moment decision, even if it meant splashing the two of them across the pages of publications he’d rather not be associated with. He’d had enough practice that he was becoming rather good at this whole scandal thing now, anyway, and after Ben recovered from his initial shock at seeing his profile in print, he too had laughed it off with his characteristic grace.

It wasn’t the first time Hux had seen his private life pried into, and it wouldn’t be the last - but, for once, he felt no hint of embarrassment at what those who dared might find. Ben was no secret, nothing shadily hidden away in his penthouse above New York City - it was only Ben’s modesty that kept Hux from leaning out the window and announcing his newly cemented relationship status from the top floor of Imperial’s highrise. He would have had the entire city celebrating his luck - as well as Ben’s genius - had he his way, he was so damned smug about the whole thing. So when he stepped into his office one morning, having just sent Ben his _‘I’ve arrived safely and pledge not to threaten the lives of more than three interns today’_ text, to find an envelope with his name written in Mitaka’s distinctive script waiting on his desk, Hux already had his suspicions about what might be inside. If it was another newspaper clipping, as he suspected, he’d take it home to Ben that night so the two of them could laugh at its contents in private. Ben, especially, took great enjoyment from mocking the wild speculation regarding who he might be and what he might have done to the previously illusive CEO of Imperial Marketing.

Hux worked through his email first, sipping away at the macchiato Phasma had left waiting for him next to the envelope - she was still doing her damndest to work her way back into Hux’ good graces, and there was no surer way to his heart than the combination of caffeine and sugar. Then, only when he’d reached the bottom of the cup and the end of his unread emails, did he reach for his letter opener, already preparing himself for a good laugh. The tabloids were getting more ridiculous by the day, in one article naming Ethan Hux’ anonymous companion the son of an owner of a competing firm, in the next the heir to the fortune of a family long thought died out. As he broke the seal on the envelope, Hux was almost curious to see what they would come up with next.

...but what he found inside had him drawing in a breath and clasping his hand over his mouth instead, thankful he’d already swallowed the last of his coffee so he was saved the indignation of spitting it out.

He scanned the first three lines six times before he registered what it was he was looking at. It wasn’t the newspaper clipping he’d expected to find at all; it was a letter, an official-looking one at that, from something called the _Professional Association of Design_. It wasn’t the first time Hux had heard the name - he’d seen it referenced in potential graphic designers’ resumes in the past - and once his mind had cleared, he recognized the letterhead as well. The Association held an annual gala and awards banquet in the city and, if he could trust his eyes and wasn’t yet in need of the reading glasses his father had already worn at his age, this year, Imperial was invited. More specifically, the design team responsible for Jessika’s logo was.

Except there was no team. There was only Ben. _His Ben._ His Ben who had received an invitation to the annual AIGA Awards Gala, to be held at Pier Sixty in downtown Manhattan, one of the most expansive venues in the city, because he had been nominated for the industry’s most prestigious graphic design award. For a moment, Hux was too stunned to do much of anything; then, he threw his head back and _laughed,_ equal parts giddy and disbelieving, until tears streaked down his cheeks. This was… it was _incredible_. Hux had spent years attempting to build a design team deserving of such an accolade; he’d had his people in human resources scour thousands of resumes, had looked himself through the portfolios of graphic artists who weren’t even on the market in the event that he could convince them to leave their current employers and join him at Imperial if their talent warranted the trouble.

For so long, he had hoped and prayed that he’d find an artist like Ben, one whose skill with a brush or pen or a damned computer program matched Hux’ mind for business. Now not only did he have him at the helm of Imperial’s imaging, he had him warming his bed and heart as well - and not for the first time, his mind turned to a day in mid-October, with a journalist in a suit telling him he was like to die alone at the rate he was going and a boy down in his administrative department who had thought things so hopeless he’d taken it out on several thousands of dollars’ worth of equipment.

Fate, Hux thought, scrubbing the tears of laughter from his eyes with the back of a hand, had a funny way of working things out.

He must have been laughing louder than he thought, because Hux was still wiping at his eyes when Mitaka eased his door open and stuck his head inside, looking nervous, as if trying to judge whether the sound coming from Hux’ office was one of pleasure or one of distress before he proceeded further. One look at his assistant, at the way his eyes tracked the envelope in Hux’ hand - the one that had bore his name in Mitaka’s script - and there was no mistaking the truth.

“Mitaka, did you do this?” he asked, removing the letter from the envelope entirely, so he could hold it up at the corner. It unfolded itself and fell open, the letterhead for the _Professional Association of Design_ displayed prominently at the top.

Mitaka stood frozen for a moment, suddenly very interested in his the brown leather of his shoes as he toed the two of them together. It wasn’t until Hux shook his head and leaned back in his chair, unable to stop himself from chuckling again as he kicked his legs up on his desk, that he seemed to gather his courage. He nodded once, sharply, gulping so hard that his Adam’s apple bobbed with it before finally lifting his head to look Hux in the eyes.

“Yessir,” he answered, speaking so quickly the words ran together. “There should be another page, too - if you flip that one over. You’ve, uh, you’ve been nominated as well.” He waited a beat, nodding jerkily toward the letter now open in Hux’ hand. “For a different award, of course - given to someone in corporate leadership. I hope you don’t mind that I did it without asking. It’s just that there - there wasn’t time. The deadline for regular entries had already passed, and I didn’t even think the Association would accept them this late in the game, but Ben’s work was so good I had to _try._ And then the envelope came in this morning and I just couldn’t _not_ look, and then well… you know the rest.”

The look on his face was so apprehensive that Hux had to take pity on him - and if his own guilty conscience hadn’t been motivation enough, the sneaking suspicion that Phasma wouldn’t be the only one stuck working for Ben’s forgiveness if he didn’t go easy on the poor man would have done the trick. He only allowed Mitaka to work himself into a mild panic before he pushed himself up from his high-backed chair.

“You think I’d take issue with you seeing that Ben gets his due recognition for the work he provided on Jessika’s project?” he asked, giving Mitaka a wide smile as he approached him. His assistant still looked as if he suspected the answer the might be yes, his smallish nose wrinkling slightly as he flinched, and Hux laughed again, warm and full. “Mitaka, you ridiculous man - get a grip! I’m not going to scold you, I’m going to _thank_ you!” Hux clapped him on the back, hard enough that it almost sent the man sprawling, then reached out to steady him before it did. “You know as well as I do that Ben would never have sent in his own work. Truly, you’ve done me a favor!” Mitaka’s eyes were nearly bugged out of his head as Hux continued, wagging a finger at him. “Scold you? Ha! I should see to it you get a bonus for taking the initiative. I like seeing this side of you, Mitaka. You should show it more often.”

When Mitaka choked on a cough, Hux’ palm thumped the back of his shoulder again, encouraging him to breathe. He’d always known he’d hired Mitaka for something other than his stellar organizational skills, and now he had the proof to show it; when he wasn’t too timid to speak up, his assistant was proving to be something of an idea man.  

“Yes, you’re going places, I can feel it,” Hux said. “Specifically, in this instance, back to your desk to place an order to _Belle Fleur_ \- you know the florist, the one over on Fifth? The one that did the Blanchett wedding last autumn, with the stunning pale pink orchid arrangements?” He didn’t wait for Mitaka to answer; Hux trusted that if his assistant _didn’t_ know, he’d find out quickly enough. “They’re not typically available for same-day delivery, but I think they’ll make an exception this time. Just tell them Ethan Hux is requesting a _personal_ favor; they’ll know what it means.”  

“I’ll want the bouquet to be something _big,_ of course _,”_ he continued, spreading his hands. “A statement piece. And it will have to be delivered by the time I get home from work, so no later than 4pm - I’ll be taking my leave early today, Mitaka, so make sure my schedule’s cleared after my meeting with human resources.” Hux tapped a finger on his lower lip, contemplating. “Yes, I’m thinking three dozen roses, at least -  all in different colors. Most of them white - akito roses, I think they’re called? But there will have to be some red too - really _vibrant_ ones - and perhaps some in lavender? They’ll know how to arrange them, I’m sure, so don’t concern yourself with that. But whatever you do, don’t let them get by without adding some of those orchids from the Blanchett wedding - they’ll know the ones I’m speaking of. I won’t see Ben receive a bouquet without them.” He looked to his assistant, who hadn’t moved, his mouth hanging open.  

“Mitaka, this is important. Are you writing you this down? It’s the _Blanchett_ wedding - two t’s.”  

As the shorter man scrambled for a pen, Hux mused, mostly to himself, “I imagine the arrangement won’t be complete without at least a little ivy - the loose kind, looking like it doesn’t care. Oh! And some calla lillies. And what kind of a bouquet would be complete without baby’s breath…”

\---

No one had ever given Ben flowers before. Not even once. But during the months he’d been with Ethan, his partner had made damn sure to compensate for it. In fact, Ethan had been equal parts horrified and affronted on Ben’s behalf, and demanded Ben tell him all the kinds of flowers he liked, so that Ethan would know where to start rectifying this outrageous neglect. So, receiving flowers was in itself nothing odd - however, they were usually delivered by Ethan himself, and usually not this… this…  He didn’t have the words. When the delivery people had called up so he could let them in, Ben had thought it a bit unusual, but figured Ethan just hadn’t had the time, and he assumed it would be just a regular sized bouquet.

It was _not_ a regular sized bouquet. It was the single largest bouquet he had ever seen in his life; the poor florist struggled to hold onto it, could barely see where she was going over the top of the paper it had been wrapped in, and when Ben looked up from it, he realized that not only was she not alone - the five people behind her had their arms full of flowers as well. He had hurried to let them in, helping them get all the flowers into the vases they’d brought despite their assurances that no help was necessary. The florist seemingly in charge had confided in him that only that first bouquet was the actual order, but that they wished to do a little something to show their appreciation for the generous donation Mr Hux had made, and Ben had assured them that not only did he absolutely love what they had done, Mr Hux would definitely feel the same. Once he’d helped them all out the door again, Ben could finally turn his attention to his own gift, holding his breath in anticipation as he carefully unwrapped the paper protecting his bouquet.

It was beautiful. _Absolutely beautiful_. Ben couldn’t believe that Ethan remembered his favourite flowers, or his favourite colours for them, but here they all were. Roses, too many to count; some of them a deep, rich scarlet, his favourite white roses grouped together with pale pink and lavender ones. Then there were orchids, their delicate pastel toned flowers breaking up the soft, round pattern of the roses, together with beautiful purple calla lilies, and the tiny white puffs of baby’s breath. Deep green ivy framed the whole thing, and also ran in playful little arches and swirls in the bouquet itself. The colours shouldn’t go together, he knew that, but the florists had made it work, and work well. The same flowers, he realized, were grouped together in different combinations in the other little arrangements, and already the soft, sweet smell was beginning to spread through the penthouse. Ben knew he should probably go put them out in the other rooms, but right now he couldn’t take his eyes off Ethan’s gift - and it took every inch of his self control not to just bury his face right into the soft petals. He was so enthralled, in fact, that it took him several minutes before he even noticed the little note tucked in between a few of the roses. In a slight daze still, he reached for it, unfolding it.

**_My dearest Ben, please accept this bouquet as a small token of my esteemed affection and the awe that still possesses me whenever I am faced with the scope of your genius and beauty. I couldn’t be prouder of you, and I have the most wonderful news to share as soon as I arrive home. Until then, let the flowers do my speaking for me._ **

**_I love you._ **

**_/Ethan_** **.**

Nothing could have stopped the smile breaking out across Ben’s face as he read the note over and over. For some reason, it felt very important to him to know that Ethan had obviously told the florists to write these exact words - which meant that he had made it quite obvious to them that this bouquet was not only intended for another man, but another man whom Ethan Hux _loved_. While he knew Ethan had no problems with being seen in public with Ben, it still made him feel so indescribably happy to know that he didn’t hesitate to to be this honest about his feelings for Ben, even to complete strangers. In an ideal world, it shouldn’t matter, but this wasn’t an ideal world - Ben knew that better than most. If Han and Leia had seen this, they would have had a fit, he thought. If only they knew how many times since that night at _Daniel_ Ethan’s beautiful hands had sneaked under his clothes, wrung climaxes out of him that had him struggling to breathe for what felt like hours, how many times Ben had done the same to Ethan. He wondered if they would have a heart attack if they knew how much Ethan Hux had enjoyed that first time, a few days ago, when Ben had used his mouth on him, how even Ethan had not been able to form words, reduced to gasps and groans, climaxing with a shout - his hands buried in Ben’s hair, his eyes fixed on the sight of his Ben kneeling between his thighs. Ben couldn’t remember a time he’d been more proud, or pleased, with himself - and Ethan had had nothing but praise and declarations of love and admiration to voice for hours afterwards.

Would his parents dare to call their relationship disgusting, if they knew who it was Ben loved? Would they dare to say those things to Ethan Hux?

Forcing himself away from those thoughts, not wanting Han and Leia to ruin this moment for him by their lingering presence in his mind, Ben tried to decide what to do with the flowers once he’d put them in a vase. (He’d had to evacuate a group of orchids from their arrangement to find something big enough to fit the bouquet, but he figured he could work something else out for the poor orchids later.) The bad thing about bouquets, though, was that they didn’t last very long. It used to make Ben sad, used to make him feel all frail and achy inside to see how fast the flowers would start to wilt and die - but with a little help from Ethan, who didn’t laugh at him for getting sad over flowers, he was slowly learning to embrace the beauty of them in the moment they were given, and not worry about how long he’d get to keep them.

Having gotten the bouquet safely into its vase, Ben fidgeted for a little, trying to figure out if he should put it on the coffee table, or if the dinner table would be more suitable - or if there was some other spot in the penthouse where it might look more at home. And where could he put it to ensure that Millie didn’t knock it over, or try to eat the flowers? Then it struck him; he would take it with him into his studio, and he would paint it. Would do a proper still life study of it - in watercolours, yes, but perhaps oil as well? Maybe even try a few different mediums, to make it a series, a concept - then he’d have it with him forever; then he could just go look at whichever one of his paintings he felt like, and it would still look as fresh as it did now. Maybe some of the other arrangements could make for good still lifes as well, Ben thought, and decided to take as many flowers with him as he could. Eventually, after deciding he had enough flowers in the studio - mainly because it was beginning to get difficult to move around in there - he told Beru to put his _Cure_ playlist on in there, starting with _Friday I’m In Love_. Ethan wasn’t home yet, so he could sing along and be silly as much as he wanted while he worked.

\---

Ben only vaguely registered the sound of the front door opening - wouldn’t have at all if it wasn’t for the fact that his studio was right across from it. He was so completely engrossed in making the basic outlining on a piece of framed canvas that it wasn’t until a pair of arms wrapped themselves around his chest, and he felt Ethan’s lips against his neck, that he fully registered that he had come home. Tilting his head to give him better access, Ben continued the outlining for a little bit longer, having learned that Ethan enjoyed watching him work - to the point where he’d sometimes take his paperwork with him and sit down by Ben’s work table, and then get absolutely nothing done due to him just sitting there watching Ben’s hands move over canvases and large sketchpads. Finally, he put the pencil down and turned his head so they could share a proper kiss - Ethan’s hand immediately going to caress Ben’s face and then card his fingers through his hair.

“If that welcome was any indication, it would appear that the flowers were suitable to your tastes,” Ethan teased. His lips turned up, playful, as he drew back from the kiss.

Ben smiled, nodding enthusiastically.

“They’re beautiful,” he beamed, giving Ethan a quick peck as he turned fully so he could pull him close. “Thank you. I just… I love them. I love _you_. But, uhm… What brought this on? The note, uhm, you said you had news?”

“Do I need a reason to surprise the man I love with flowers?” Hux asked, though both of them knew the answer was no - he surprised Ben with all manner of things whenever he pleased. “I was under the impression that came with the territory - you know, of being an appropriately doting partner and all. I must admit I’m a little rusty, but I’m brushing up on the specifics as quickly as I can.” His eyes scanned the room behind Ben’s head as he spoke. Hux hadn’t doubted that _Belle Fleur_ would deliver on his request - that was the reason he had chosen them, after all - but they had really outdone themselves this time. He’d still been outside the apartment door when first he’d caught the aroma of fresh-cut roses, heavy and floral, and he now knew that was because if he’d asked for three dozen of them, there were at least five. Possibly six. Had the penthouse been any other space, it would have been too much - here, it was just enough.

It wasn’t easy to impress Hux - for him, the very best came standard and expected - but the sprawling array of blush pinks, of greyish lavenders, of peaches so ripe they might have dripped nectar, managed it with flare. Not a corner of Ben’s studio had escaped the treatment. A veritable garden’s worth of blooms creeped up each wall, like ivy on the outside of family homes in the country of his birth, and looking at him there, surrounded on all sides by _Belle Fleur_ ’s finest, the flush on his cheeks matching his favorite of the roses - a particularly large bloom more apricot than true pink - Hux saw more clearly than ever the resemblance to the woman from Skywalker’s painting, at home amongst her growing things.

Flowers suited him, Hux thought, admiring the canvas upon which Ben had started his painting; he might have met his partner in October, but there was no doubt Ben was a child of the spring.

Ben dipped his head, his hair brushing Hux’ chin as he chewed his lower lip in silent consideration. In the background, Beru was playing a British rock band Hux couldn’t remember the name of, but that he knew Ben cherished, and the scent of the flowers clung to Ben’s checked flannel shirt like he’d bathed in rosewater. Hux inhaled gratefully, letting it carry him along as he ran his hands over the breadth of Ben’s shoulders.

“Oh, all right,” he admitted, inhaling deeply once more when he’d gotten his fill. “It’s no fun teasing you when you insist on acting so innocent.” He felt Ben smile against his neck at the teasing note in his voice. “If it’s the news you want, it’s the news you’ll get - but I have a feeling I’d best make sure I’ve got a sturdy hold on you first. We can’t have you hitting the floor when I tell you that you’ve just been nominated for what might be the most prestigious graphic design award this side of the Atlantic. There’ll be no accepting any awards on Imperial’s behalf all battered and bruised because I wasn’t there to catch you. I won’t allow it.”

“...I’ve- I’ve been… _What_?”

“See, I told you,” Hux chided, tightening his hold on Ben when he felt his knees weaken. “Maybe next time you’ll listen when I give you a warning.” But he was laughing, and he softened the sting of his words with a brush of his nose over Ben’s temple before explaining further. “It’s the _Professional Association of Design._ They’ve nominated Jessika’s logo - the one _you_ created - for an award. One given yearly to those artists whose work exemplifies excellence in the industry of graphic design. It’s a huge honor - we’ve never had an artist at Imperial nominated before. Our design team’s just never been up to snuff.” Ben was looking at him as if he’d stopped speaking English some time ago, and suddenly taken with the way Ben scrunched his nose when he was lost, with the lines of the confusion forming between his eyes, Hux put a hand on his partner’s waist and did a quick side-step, leaving Ben no choice but to follow as he danced him around in a circle. Round and round he led them both, spinning until Ben was breathless and clinging to him, gulping down rose-scented air. “You’re the first, Ben. The first to make an impression on them.”

“The awards gala isn’t for another month yet,” he said, still laughing as he pulled Ben flush against him. “So we’ve got some weeks to prepare, but that doesn’t mean we should waste time. It’s to be held at Pier Sixty - I don’t know if you’ve ever visited before, but it’s truly exquisite. Right on the water. The whole team will have to be there, of course - at least everyone in upper management. We’ll make a weekend of it, which means we’ll have to arrange for accommodations as soon as possible. Most of the other attendees have probably already had their arrangements for weeks now.” Mumbling to himself, Hux shook his head - he could leave the specifics for later. For Mitaka. That’s what he’d hired him for; there was no use troubling Ben with them. “I’ve been nominated for something too - some sort of corporate leadership award - but I’m hardly concerned with that. I’m far too young to be a real contender. Maybe a few years from now, when the other nominees don’t have a good decade on me in experience.”

He smiled wistfully, eyes crinkling at the corners, as he huffed out a sigh. “ _Finally,_ recognition for something in design. Do you know how long I’ve been waiting for this, love? And it was you - all along it was _you._ How didn’t I know?”  

When would Ben stop making him look a fool, he wondered, looking between the boy who’d changed everything and the sketch he’d barely begun, but that already rivaled the flowers for the centerpoint in the room. When would he learn that if there was a question in his life, Ben would be the answer, nine times out of ten - even to those questions he hadn’t asked yet? Hux had always been quick to catch on - but that had been in matters not concerning Ben - and he kissed him again, full on the lips, while Ben was speechless and floundering, his mouth still hanging open slightly.

“Wha-?” Ben still couldn’t comprehend what Ethan had just told him “You- you’re saying that I-? That I-... But- I’m n-not a g-graphic designer! I’m not- not even a professional artist... Ethan, are you _serious_? I’ve actually-?” He swallowed hard, suddenly feeling very dizzy. “I need to sit down.”

Ethan helped him over to the chaise that stood by the window, laying down and pulling Ben with him so that he came to lie with his head on Ethan’s chest - one of his arms around his shoulder, and the other buried in his hair. They had napped like this more than once - done other things as well, that had caused Ethan to promptly invest in a blanket to cover the deep purple velvet in hopes (ironically enough) of protecting it from stains - their bodies falling into the most comfortable position on their own. Ben wondered briefly, as that thought popped into his head, if there would ever be a time when he wouldn’t look at a place in their home, and remember exactly how many times they had kissed there, how Ethan’s hands had roamed his skin, or how his own had lured praises and beautiful noises out of this beautiful man he shared his life with. He hoped not. He liked remembering it - it helped keep him grounded, helped him feel safe, secure, steady in his knowledge of how loved he was, and how Ethan wasn’t going anywhere.

Then his mind replayed what Ethan had just told him, and he felt dizzy all over again - hiding his face against Ethan’s soft blue shirt, clinging on for dear life, not caring that he was getting the fabric all rumpled.

“Ben, sweetling, how are you faring? A little less dizzy now?” Ethan asked, gently prying his face away from his shirt so he could look at him. “I know this is a lot to take in. It was even for me. You can thank Mitaka, you know - he’s the one who nominated us, the little sneak. But I can’t hold it against him.” His fingers moved over the soft hairs at Ben’s temple, soothing, his chest rumbling as he chuckled. “There’s no denying you’re an artist, love - one of the most exceptional I’ve ever known, and I’ve spent more time at gallery openings than most. So when you say that you don’t have a degree in graphic design, I’m afraid I have to counter that I don’t give a damn. What you’ve got going for you is something far more valuable, and far rarer. It’s talent, the kind you’re born with, and that’s something that belongs only to _you._ There are people who’ve studied for years who will never know a fraction of what comes to you naturally. And I should know - I’ve interviewed all of them by now.” He gently caressed Ben’s cheek, his thumb moving down to run over the soft pad of Ben’s lower lip.

“It’s a big gala,” he warned. “I want you to be prepared.There will be a lot of people. Not everyone has sent in their rsvp yet, but the attendance is going to number at least in the several hundreds. And the crowd… they’re not the easiest to get along with. They’re pretentious, every last one of them. I’d love for you to attend, Ben, of course I would - but not nearly as much as I want you to feel comfortable. If you don’t want to go - if you can’t - then we’ll find a way to work around it. It would be Mitaka’s pleasure to represent you, I’m sure - the man’s half in love with you as it is - though he doesn’t have your height, or even half your beauty.” Ethan gave him a wink. “The choice is now - as it always is - yours.”

Ben nodded, leaning in for a kiss while he tried to work out what to say. Ethan didn’t seem to mind his stalling, so Ben made sure it lasted as long as he needed. Damn his brain and forgetting how to do words when he got overwhelmed!

“I, uhm, I want to go,” he said when they finally parted. “Really, I do. But, uhm, I might not, you know, wanna do the after party bit. I think that- that it might be a bit too much? W-would that be okay? To just attend the award bit itself? Is there gonna be a dinner and stuff too?” Hux nodded. “Yeah, then I’ll probably need to, uhm, leave earlier. I-if you wanna stay longer, it’s okay! I promise! I’ll just, uhm, go back to the hotel and sleep. I don’t want you to feel like you have to leave just because, uhm, just because I do. I mean, if you’re having fun, and stuff.”

“Darling,” Ethan said on an affectionate sigh. “If you can provide me with an excuse to escape the after party, you won’t hear a word of complaint from me. I’ve seen enough of these things to last a lifetime. One look from you, and we’re out the door faster than you can say _‘I’ve had my fill of self-congratulatory bullshit.’_ The people at the party? I couldn’t care less about the lot of them - they care enough about themselves for the rest of us, trust me. What _I_ care about is my beautiful partner, and all the things I want to do to him are better left for the hotel room. They’re not yet considered acceptable in polite society - or so I’ve heard. Best not to test that theory at the _Professional Association of Design’s_ annual awards gala, don’t you think?”

\---

Ben had had hot chocolate before - even pretty damn good hot chocolate at that - but he had never, ever, had hot chocolate like this one. It was, without any doubt, the single most amazing cup of hot chocolate he’d ever had. The taste was rich, intense, perfectly balanced, and Ben couldn’t quite get over the enormous mound of whipped cream, topped with grated orange and chocolate that covered the drink itself - he was glad he hadn’t had time for a very big breakfast that morning, or he would never have been able to finish it. How he had spent most of his teenage years and adulthood moving about in New York and never before realized that _Serendipity_ existed was completely beyond him - but Phasma was right; for chocolate lovers, there was no place better. She had insisted on treating him to all the best parts of their menu, as a way to apologize, and Ben - who never did very well with drawn out conflicts - had complied with her wish.

She had come to the penthouse that morning, early enough that Ben was still in his pajamas when she entered the kitchen and found him bravely attempting to eat something more than yoghurt for breakfast, to help his Lithium go down. He had been back on it for a good three weeks now, but the side effects weren’t going easier on him now than before. He knew he needed to eat, though - his psychiatrist knew her way around eating disorders as well, and, after some very difficult conversations on the topic, they were now working on bringing Ben’s weight up to a healthy level - and the knowledge that his psychiatrist was currently looking into meds to help combat the nausea gave him strength enough to try his best, even though he could think of few things less appetizing than the sandwich in front of him at that moment.

Phasma’s arrival had been a bit awkward, Ben going into defensive mode, and Phasma not quite knowing where to start. But eventually, she’d explained that, since the gala was only three weeks away now, it was high time to start thinking about what to wear. She needed a new outfit, and she figured that the same might be true for Ben as well - and since she remembered that he’d said something before about the kind of clothes he liked, she thought that they could go shopping for some of that too. She knew a few stores where they might have what Ben was looking for, and it was hardly as if Hux was the only one who knew how to put an outfit together. Then she’d mentioned _Serendipity_ again, and Ben had decided to risk it. He was feeling a bit restless, anyway, and he knew he really needed to patch things up with Phasma.

So here they were now. Ben hadn’t quite managed to finish his chocolate, but it was hardly a problem, since Phasma was more than happy to do it for him - having already finished her own. Food was still difficult, especially if he had it in public, but he was proud of himself for managing as much as he did. It was easier when Ethan was there with him - Ethan, who never questioned, never pushed, never made him feel guilty for sometimes not managing more than a bite or two, because he got so stressed out by being in public. Today, though, he felt proud of himself. Because today he had been out in public with Phasma, and almost managed an entire _Serendipitous Hot Chocolate_ on his own - only having to stop because his belly was full, not because of his… _issues_. Well, part of it was due to his issues, but not the food related ones. There was something in Phasma’s posture, the way she kept looking as if she wanted to say something, the way she was being so extremely nice. There was a Conversation coming, and he’d rather they just got it over with, because it was starting to make him anxious. Luckily, Phasma seemed to have finally gotten herself together, reaching across the table to put her hand on his.

“Listen, Ben,” she said. “I… I want to apologize, for the things I said the last time we talked. I was _so_ out of line. I can’t believe I did what I did, and I know it’s no excuse, but I was just so _worried_ about you. All I could think about was what you looked like, back before Christmas, about the way Hux was acting. The way he treated you, Ben, it just... I jumped to conclusions, and I should have known better. Or at least should have asked. But if you couldn’t tell, I don’t always think before I open up my mouth and shove my foot right inside of it.” Phasma sighed, wiping her fingers on a napkin. “You were right; you’re an adult, and it’s not my job to decide what you should want for yourself. God knows Hux is a prick sometimes, and an idiot, but he’s the best friend I’ve ever had and just… just tell me this, Ben. He does make you happy, doesn’t he? He’s what you really want - with your whole heart? Hux is happier than I’ve ever seen him - won’t stop smiling from ear to ear, damn him - but I’ve got to know the same goes for you. So. Are you happy, Ben, really?”

“I am,” Ben smiled. “I’m happier than I ever even thought possible. You don’t have to worry, okay? Ethan is… I just… I love him, Phasma. More than I can say. And, uhm, though we got off to a pretty, uhm, pretty bad start, he’s been nothing but amazing since.” He bit his lip, the smile fading into a serious expression. “I’m still not, you know, okay with what you accused him of. It’s going to take a while before I can, uhm, before I can get past that. But if something ever, you know, happens - that I don’t think I can deal with on my own - you’ll be the first to know. Okay?”

“Fair enough.” Phasma nodded, then gave an uncharacteristically sheepish smile. “I kinda deserved that, didn’t I?” She grimaced, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, before straightening up. “Now what do you say we find you something to wear to this gala? I hear you’re likely to be accepting a pretty big award - at least Hux thinks you’re a shoe-in - so we’ve got to make sure you look the part. After that, we can get to work spending all of your money. How about that?” A slow smile spread across her face. “You know, I’ve never had control of one of Hux’ credit cards before.”

“I’m ready when you are,” Ben nodded. “I’ve never gotten to go on a shopping spree before - and definitely not this kind. And I think it’s a good way to break in my new credit card, since, you know, Ethan’s always telling me not to worry about money anymore. I gotta learn it somehow, don’t I? Might as well be today.”

\---

Shopping with Phasma was like shopping with a whirlwind. She had a mental list of stores where they might find clothes for the gala, and she tore through them like a hurricane, leaving a trail of slightly traumatized salespeople behind. But in the end, they had both found an outfit that worked - Phasma praising Ben’s sense of style to the high heavens, making him stutter and blush profusely. She’d even asked for his opinion on the dresses she’d been deciding between - and actually bought the one he said he thought looked best. It was absolutely unheard of for Ben to have someone not only ask his opinion, but trust it enough to buy the clothes in question, and he felt pride bloom deep in his chest as they headed on for ‘the fun part,’ as Phasma called it.

They were currently three stores in, and the amount of shopping bags they were dragging around was beginning to become a bit ridiculous - not that Ben would ever say that out loud. Most of the things were his, after all. By the time they went home he’d have another wardrobe’s worth of clothes, and if there was ever a time when he was grateful for the stupid number of closets in the penthouse, this was it. Ben was currently in the dressing room, trying on a pair of black skinny jeans he’d looked at three times before Phasma grabbed them, and shoved him into the dressing room with them. She kept sending more clothes in with him, so he knew - having learnt his lesson in the past two stores - that he would be in there for a while. Once he’d gotten them buttoned up, having made sure his boxers didn’t curl up and ruin the contour, he dared take a look at himself in the mirror.

He… he looked good. _Better_ than good. Leia would have had a fit if she’d ever seen him in skinny jeans; she’d never allowed him to so much as mention it at home, and Han thought skinny jeans were something only ‘fucking queers’ wore. But looking at his reflection now, Ben felt… comfortable, at peace, like he finally looked like himself. It was just a pair of pants, he knew that, but still. An idea came into his head, and in a display of courage he’d never knew he possessed, he reached for the pile of clothes hanging over the door to his little booth, digging through them until he found a simple black tank top, and an equally simple black short-sleeved shirt.

“Uhm, Phasma?” he called, opening the door to the booth, to find her sitting right outside, looking at her phone. “Does this work? I mean, with the, uhm….” He gestured to the scars on his arms. “T-tell me honestly if I just look stupid.”

Phasma looked up from her phone, her jaw dropping, and then she was grinning like the Cheshire cat, coming over to have a closer look at the fit of the jeans, and fixing the collar of his shirt.

“Stupid? Honey, you look stunning! I’m practically salivating over here,” she assured him. “We’re going to need the paramedics on standby - seriously, Hux is going to drop dead of a heart attack when he sees you! I can’t believe him. Covering you up in suits and ties when you could have been turning heads dressed like this all along! Someone needs to tell that man not every event is a funeral. You’re an artist for God’s sake, not a banker!” She looked him over again. “And don’t worry about the scars. We’ll just find you some nice bracelets, maybe a watch. It’s all about the accessories, Ben, don’t let anyone tell you differently. And you’re kidding yourself if you think there’s a person alive who’s going to be paying attention to anything other than how damn good you look. You’ll need a pair of shoes to match, though. I mean, you could pull the look off with any of the Converse you like to wear, but I think, for this, you might want something with a bit more… attitude.”

Ben bit his lip, blushing a little.

“Well,” he mumbled. “I kinda always wanted, uhm… I was thinking a pair of boots? Like, uhm, you know GettaGrips? Something like that. But I’m scared it’ll look too… you know, too emo. I don’t know if I can get away with it?”

“Aw, Ben, sweetheart,” Phasma pulled him into a hug. “I have a thing or two to say to whoever the hell made you think you can’t wear those things, because they’re obviously a _total_ idiot. Lucky for you, I’m only an idiot fifty percent of the time - and now isn’t one of those times. So listen here: Does what you’re wearing make you feel good? Do you feel comfortable in this outfit?” Ben nodded. “Then that’s what you should be wearing, end of story. And I wouldn’t kid you, Ben - you look hot as hell. Not even a little bit emo, whatever that means. And stupid? Ben Solo and _‘stupid’_ don’t even belong in the same sentence. You’re rocking this outfit, just like you’re going to rock those boots - because the next place we’re going as soon as we’re finished here is to find a store that sells them. Does that sound like a plan?”

“Y-yeah,” Ben managed. “Thank you.”

“Like you had any choice!” She gave him a final once over as he stepped back into the booth. “You should totally wear those clothes on the way out of here, though. Leave whatever the hell Hux picked out for you in the dressing room - you’re about to blow everyone’s minds.”

By the time Ben had finished trying everything on, and - with Phasma’s very vocal approval - decided to take most of it home with him, Phasma had not only located the nearest _Dr Marten’s_ store, but also two other shops where she assured him they would have the kind of accessories he would like. And she was right. Before they’d made it to the _Dr Marten’s_ shop, Ben had become the proud new owner of a pretty impressive collection of necklaces, a dozen or so bracelets (both broad and slim leather bracelets, some silver ones, and some in other materials and styles), a few different watches, some good looking belts, keychains - the works. Phasma had insisted he’d wear the set of dogtags he’d found right away, and when the store owner had informed them that they came with an offer to have something engraved on them, Ben knew what he wanted - but it had still taken Phasma ten minutes of assurances before he actually allowed himself to ask them to do so. Luckily, the store owner wore a rainbow pin on his shirt, so Ben felt a lot safer asking than he would otherwise have. When they finally headed to get his boots, Phasma was grinning from ear to ear, and Ben was blushing a lovely shade of red - but he was grinning as well.

In the end, Ben came out of _Dr Marten’s_ with a total of three new pairs of boots, and two pairs of shoes, that - to Phasma’s obvious delight - would work well with any of the suits he owned as well as with most of the new pants he’d bought during their outing. He’d been brave, and actually put his brand new GettaGrips on right away; the boots came up to just over half of his lower leg, fitting snugly around it like they were made for him, and the lovely person working in the store had sighed with envy, saying she wished her legs looked that gorgeous in that model. Ben had blushed, stuttering out a ‘thanks,’ while they got everything bagged and paid for. She’d shared a few tricks to get the lacing right, and how to know if the fit was correct, and when Ben and Phasma headed for their cab, Ben had to give it to her - they fit better than he’d thought they would, given that they were brand new. While the weight of them was something he’d obviously need to get used to, they did something to his stride - he could feel it, and he noticed that people noticed him in a completely new way. Phasma still hadn’t stopped grinning.

“I was going to talk you into splitting another cup of coffee, or a danish or something,” she said, as they got themselves into the backseat, “But I know when it’s time to call it a day. You look tired, and if we end up with even one more bag, we’re going to have to hire someone to carry them all. I, for one, am not ready to aspire to that level of Hux-ness yet. You okay with that?”

“Yeah,” Ben affirmed. “I’m starting to get a bit overwhelmed, and I think I might need a nap. And, uhm, it’s gonna be hard enough to fit all of this in my closet - if we get more stuff, I’ll have to ask Ethan to convert the guest room or something. And, well, I’d rather not.”

“He’d do it, you know,” Phasma laughed. “In an instant. He’d have people in there tomorrow, installing your dream closet, if you asked for it.”

Ben couldn’t help but laugh with her.

“He would, wouldn’t he?” he chuckled. “I think I like that guest room just the way it is, though. So let’s not risk it.”

\---

When Hux’ phone had buzzed its way across his desk that morning, the last thing he had expected to find upon taking it in hand was a text from Phasma, telling him that she was “stealing his boyfriend” - _her_ words, not his - for the afternoon, and that he’d better get used to it. What he could have done about it from his office at Imperial, Hux wasn’t sure - it wasn’t like he could have stopped her, short of having her arrested for trespassing, and he wasn’t ready to go that far. There was, however, a part of him that itched to remind Phasma that while she may have been his COO, as well as his right-hand woman in every aspect of his professional life, she still worked for him and the decision to take the afternoon off was probably one that should have been run by him first.

The only thing stopping him was the knowledge that she’d have laughed him right out of his office and onto the street had he said any such thing. Phasma would never take him half as seriously as anyone else - with her, Hux had to pick his battles, and he’d just rolled his eyes as he typed out a quick: **As long as you plan to return him. I’m not going to find another.**

That was, perhaps, the understatement of the century, and there was no doubt Phasma knew it too. While she hadn’t actually thrown a parade, Hux suspected that was only because she wasn’t yet entirely certain of her forgiveness. The moment she knew she was out of the doghouse and back at the dinner table with the two of them, she’d be absolutely insufferable, Hux would have bet his considerable wealth on it. He wasn’t looking forward to it - the relentless teasing, the innuendos, the questions about his sex life. (Which was better than it had ever been, despite the fact that he and Ben didn’t exactly _have_ a sex life, and that was something he wasn’t about to discuss with Phasma, no matter how much needling she did.) What he and Ben got up to - and didn’t - was no one’s business but their own, but anyone who thought that a reasonable statement obviously hadn’t attempted to explain it to Phasma.

There’d been no response from Phasma outside of a line of emojis that included two fists flashing a thumbs-up, a trio of dollar signs, and a pair of shoes. It all culminated in a face that was both laughing and crying, which Hux found frankly worrying, but an inquiry into what she was planning to do with Ben yielded only what appeared to be a chocolate bar and a self-satisfied bastard of a smiley. By that point, Hux could have throttled her through the screen of his phone, and he would have investigated further had he not been interrupted in his search of his own emoji keyboard for a face that fully conveyed his consternation by the sound of Mitaka buzzing in over the intercom. Finance, his assistant had said, was questioning his proposed budget for the weekend of the gala, and the matter of securing the reservations was quite urgent, and so he’d been forced to abandon Phasma to her own devices, for better or for worse.

A full afternoon of convincing his own damn team to let him spend his own damn money how he damn well pleased later, Hux had finally taken his leave of Imperial, a picture of Ben’s feet in what he thought were combat boots the only clue as to what his boyfriend and his COO had spent the past several hours doing.  

**If you’ve talked him into joining the army, I’ll murder you** , he shot back, leaning against the wall of the elevator as it made its way back up to the penthouse. When he reached the door, he could already hear the two of them moving about inside, even before he entered the security code. They’d beat him home, Hux realized, but just barely - he would have recognized the soft timbre of Ben’s voice anywhere, which in itself was some small relief. That meant that, at the very least, Phasma hadn’t really seen him shipped off to fight the good fight or anything like that, and he entered the apartment without announcing himself, instead opting to watch his partner in business and his partner in everything else in their natural element.

The scene was a domestic one - the kind he’d never expected to see transpire in his penthouse, he’d for so long shared it with only a cat who could happily have done without his company at all. When he’d bought the place, too big for one by far, he had never imagined he would one day have the sort of friend who would make themselves a home here, let alone someone who would become to him what Ben had. It had seemed impossible, not even wanted, space set aside in preparation for something that might never happen - yet there was Phasma, gloves still on her hands and knit cap still on her head. She was bent over at the waist as she peered into a “little brown bag,” which suggested the two of them had made a stop at Bloomingdale’s, the sound of Ben’s humming coming from somewhere he couldn’t see.

“I think this one’s yours,” she was mumbling, as she pulled out a belt that Hux saw was studded with silver. It looked very much like something she would wear on the weekends, when she was away from the office. Her sense of style had always been more… adventurous than his own. “I know picked out something similar, but mine isn’t quite so sturdy. At least I don’t think so? Actually, you know what-” She struggled for a moment as she freed the belt from bag, then held it out so she could inspect it from end to end. “Come over here and let me see which one of us it fits, just to make sure. I’ll take any reason to get another look at that cute little ‘tush of yours.”

Forgetting himself, Hux cleared his throat at that, just as Ben rounded the corner from kitchen. As far as he was concerned, there was only one person with the authority to comment on the cuteness of Ben’s backside, and that was him - and he could hardly believe that his Ben would have picked out anything quite so extreme anyway - but any protest he would have made dried up in his throat at the sight of the backside in question.  

Ben must have been putting something away in the kitchen - leftovers, perhaps - because that was where he entered from, nearly tripping over a collection of bags left in his path and hopping from foot to foot until he had regained his balance. The first thing Hux noticed was that he was still wearing the combat boots from the picture Phasma had sent him - though, upon closer inspection, it appeared they weren’t combat boots at all, at least not the kind he’d been forced to wear in ROTC, but instead something more loosely inspired _by_ them. They laced up to about the same place, but looked like they had been formed to fit Ben’s legs specifically, and Hux briefly wondered if Phasma had taken him to a shoe maker - which he wouldn’t have put past her. The boots, fine as they were, didn’t hold his attention for long, however, not when Ben finished navigating around the bags with a little hop and a twist of his hips that Hux would have sworn was purposeful had Ben known he was there. (And had Ben had any idea how irresistible he was.) The motion, while not quite graceful, not only caused the tank top he wore, under a short-sleeved black shirt that was tighter than any Hux had ever seen him in before, to ride up - which in turn caused the white skin of his tummy to peek out from his jeans - but gave Hux a picture perfect view of the way those same jeans hugged the curve of his ass.

If the boots had been formed to fit Ben’s legs, Ben had been _born_ to wear these jeans. They were as tight as the tank top - tighter, even, and clung to Ben’s hips like Hux’ hands when he couldn’t keep them to himself, molded around the bones where Hux’ fingers liked to leave bruises. He’d seen his partner in denim before - Thannison had made certain to equip him with some for those days that called for something more casual - but nothing like _this_. The jeans Thannison had picked out had still been acceptable to wear to the office - on a casual Friday, perhaps, had Hux ever allowed one. These, on the other hand, would have shut down the whole of Imperial for the afternoon. Productivity would have come to a standstill. Hux couldn’t imagine what Phasma might have said to convince Ben to try them on, but whatever it was, he was certain of one thing: he wanted to kiss her for it.

“Oh, Ethan - hi!” Ben said, his eyes alighting on Hux once he’d righted himself, a smile, wide and genuine, immediately breaking open on his face. No one had ever been happy to see him the way the way Ben was, and it still did things to Hux’ insides that he couldn’t quite put a name to as his own face split into a grin in answer, just like clockwork. It must have been a ridiculous sight - him looking at Ben half like a love-drunk fool, half like a man driven mad with desire - but Hux found he didn’t give a shit, even with Phasma in the room to witness it. “You’re home earlier than we thought!”

“Yes, well-” and Hux’ voice cracked embarrassingly on the word so that he had to swallow around the lump suddenly lodged in his throat before continuing. “I left the office early this afternoon. It’s hard for one to continue working once one receives word that his partner has been kidnapped. I had to make sure your captor wasn’t torturing you _too_ much.”

Phasma snorted from her perch across the room, where she was still holding the studded belt, waiting for Ben to comply with her request to model it for her, and Hux turned to face her.  

“That really was quite a cryptic text, you know,” he said, his voice droll.

“That’s because it was meant to be,” Phasma shot back, then stuck her tongue out at him, coming up behind Ben to wrap the belt around his waist. Ben jolted at the contact, sucking in air, but she just laughed, giving his hip a little pat once she’d situated the buckle so it sat right above the fly of his jeans. “Yup, this one’s definitely yours. Fits him like a glove, doesn’t Hux?” She narrowed her eyes as Hux’ throat worked over an answer that wouldn’t utterly humiliate them both. “And don’t try to deny it - I can see the look on your face.”

Hux was quiet for a moment, and then -

“Like it was meant for him,” he agreed, softly, with a smile every bit as genuine as Ben’s had been. Sometimes there was nothing to say but the truth, and Ben’s cheeks blossomed so red he thought it must have been painful, Hux unable to hold himself back any longer, needing to touch for himself the places Phasma had already had her hands - and if that wasn’t devilishly unfair, he didn’t know what was. “If I wasn’t already a sinner, you’d make one of me now, looking like you do.” His eyes traveled Ben up and down, slowing at all the new dips now visible in the familiar terrain of his body. “Hell, you could make a sinner out of a far better man. Did no one tell you those jeans would lead down the road to moral ruin?”

When Hux stepped toward the two of them, a shit-eating grin still plastered on his face, something glinted on Ben’s chest - something that had slipped out of his shirt during the dance he’d done to maneuver around the shopping bags, though he’d been too distracted to pay much attention to it before. It hung on a hefty, beaded chain around his neck, and Hux reached out to take the weight of it in his hand. He had never known Ben to wear a necklace before, and he cocked his head in consideration as he ran the beads through his fingers.

“Ben, sweetness, what is this? Is it new?” he asked, though Hux had spent enough time in the ROTC that there was no mistaking that he was holding a pair of dogtags, their surface cool and metallic and smooth in his palm, save for an engraving on the side that faced Ben’s skin. Despite the question he had asked, Ben was silent, still, as Hux lifted them closer to his face, squinting as he looked for the answer himself. There were two lines of text, like something from a poem - or maybe a song? Hux wasn’t familiar with the words, but they settled warm and heavy, like the feeling brought on by sip of coffee fresh from the mug, in his stomach all the same.

**_Whenever I'm alone with you_ **

**_You make me feel like I am whole again_ **

Upon inspection, he realized there was something else - something shorter - written on the opposite side as well, and when he flipped the tags over to see what the other part of the engraving might say, the warm weight in his stomach branched out, prickling throughout his extremities, straight through to the tips of his fingers where they followed the shapes of the letters. There, in the center of smooth silver, printed in a font slightly larger than the rest, was a single word: _“Ethan_.” His name. He felt more than saw his fist close around the metal in his hand, the edges digging into his palm as his gaze met Ben’s, and for once, Ethan Hux was without words.

_His name._ Not his father’s. Not his uncle’s. Not anyone’s but his own. Those words - they were meant for him, and what they meant was home. What they meant was belonging, what they meant was... well, not quite ownership, but something like it, something close enough that the burst of possessiveness behind his ribcage couldn’t tell the difference. Ben was _his,_ in every way someone could belong to another person - and more than that, he _wanted_ to be. Had chosen it - had chosen Hux, _Ethan -_ even when other possibilities had presented themselves. It was strange and wonderful and not a little arousing, this knowledge that Ben belonged to him, if not forever, then at least for now - had wanted the world to know it so much he had seen it engraved in metal, and suddenly the air in the room was too warm, a flush he could feel creeping up the sides of his face and his fingers tightening further around the claim that now hung around Ben’s neck.

Ben gave a half-smile, unsure, his eyes flickering to Hux’ hand, still curled into a fist. “I hope it’s okay,” he was mumbling. “I-I didn’t know-” and that was the most ridiculous thing Ethan had ever heard, so ridiculous that he couldn’t let his partner finish the thought, instead silencing him by using his hold on the chain to pull Ben closer, so that he had no choice but to follow, stumbling after him as Hux walked him backward toward the bedroom.

“Phasma,” he said, without turning to look at her, eyes holding Ben’s gaze steady. “I’m sure you and Ben have had a very fine day together, and I can’t wait to hear all about it, but you’re going to need to leave now.” The words were endowed with meaning, promise, at least he thought - so it surprised him when Phasma failed to pick up on it. She hesitated, about to begin pawing through another of the bags she’d collected - seemingly preparing to take her leave whenever she damn well pleased, and Hux cleared his throat. “ _Now._ ” The word was almost a growl, his need to find out exactly how difficult it would be to peel Ben out of those jeans outweighing any concern he might have had for politeness.

He didn’t wait for an answer as he twisted the chain tighter between his knuckles, and when he felt Ben shudder at the way the beads pressed into the delicate skin at the back of his neck, Ethan could think of nothing more than the little grooves they would leave behind and the way the metal would feel running between his teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The text on Ben's dogtags is taken from the song Lovesong (by the Cure).


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings: homophobia, ableism, verbal abuse, and thoughts of/impulses toward self-harm.

It was one of those days where the threat of rain hung heavy in the air, the sky covered in dirty grey clouds, and biting winds tearing through New York - stinging like razors against the faces of the people crowding the streets. Ben was very glad he’d finally let Ethan convince him to let their driver take him anywhere he needed to go. It had felt weird to him at first, having a personal driver; he’d thought of him as Ethan’s driver, and the thought of taking the town car by himself hadn’t crossed his mind until Ethan had questioned why he was looking up which subway line he should take to get to Imperial, and then from Imperial to _DaVinci Art Supply_. When Ben had tried to explain, Ethan had looked positively horrified, then proceeded to ask to borrow Ben’s phone so he could add their driver’s number to Ben’s contacts as well. The poor man had very little to do during the hours Ethan was at work, anyway, and he would probably be very happy to have more to do than just sit around and listen to the radio all day. Ben would not be a bother, he promised. Besides, he’d gotten the driver as part of the deal when they signed all the contracts too - so he was, in fact, just as much Ben’s driver as he was Ethan’s.

He was a nice man, their driver, and he and Ben had spent most of the drive to Imperial chatting about all kinds of things. Apparently, Ben being an artist was something he found incredibly fascinating, and - as it turned out - he knew a thing or two about art as well. It helped Ben feel better about the whole thing. Promising that he would be only a call away when Ben needed him, the driver dropped him off right outside the doors to Imperial Marketing with a happy little wave, before he headed off to do whatever it was he did when he wasn’t driving Ben or Ethan around.

Ben hesitated for a moment, just outside the doors. He hadn’t set foot in this building in over four months, not since… _that_ day. The day that would have ended with him jumping off a bridge, had Ethan not taken him home, shown him all the reasons to stay alive that he’d been so desperately searching for. It seemed like a whole other lifetime now, and in some way, he thought, it was. That Ben - the guy who had broken apart so completely he had resigned himself to death or jail, and not cared either way - he was not the same as the Ben who stood here now. That Ben had been a lost, desperate, worn out, chain smoking, self starving wreck, who stopped hoping for things to get better years before he cracked. This Ben, the one he was now, might not be 100% recovered - would most likely never be, and that was okay - but he had hope, and he had begun to dream again, had begun to learn how to want things, how to set boundaries, to take up space, to exist as a person. He’d never thought he’d have this. He’d always thought dreams were for other people - happiness was for other people - but here he was now; an artist, creative consultant to the biggest marketing firm in New York, with half ownership of that very same firm, living with the man of his dreams in a penthouse the likes of which he’d never really thought existed before. He had friends. He had a cat. He was listened to, respected, wanted. Loved. He was _loved_.

Four-months-ago-Ben didn’t even believe he deserved love. Present Ben was learning to let himself be loved. The future was still a frightening concept, but it was getting easier each day.

Ben found himself missing his cigarettes, which surprised him; he hadn’t had any urges to smoke for four months, but now suddenly he was overcome by a need for a cigarette between his lips. While he knew that Ethan wouldn’t care if he smoked, it still felt a bit ridiculous to start smoking again now that he’d actually managed to quit - even if it hadn’t exactly been a conscious choice at the time. Taking a deep breath, he straightened his back, and walked in through the doors, only to find Mitaka just stepping out of the elevators. He approached Ben with an apologetic smile - clipboard in hand - and motioned for him to follow.

“Good afternoon, Ben,” he greeted warmly. “It’s nice to see you. I know Mr Hux wanted to accompany you himself, but unfortunately he got called into an emergency meeting with the HR department, so he asked me to go with you instead. I hope that’s alright.”

“Of course it’s alright,” Ben smiled. “I’m just glad I don’t have to go there alone. I mean, last time I was here… Uhm, it didn’t exactly end well. And, uhm, you know, it’s not like they haven’t talked about it since. I know they have - that’s not the kind of thing people just forget, and I just… I hate knowing I’m _that_ guy now, you know?”

Mitaka nodded as they stepped back into the elevator.

“I understand,” he assured Ben as he pressed the button for the administrative department’s floor. “And so does Mr Hux - which is why he requested that they gather your things before we arrive, so you can just take the box and leave if you want to. If you want to talk to them for a minute, that is, of course, alright too. They were your colleagues, after all.”

Ben snorted.

“They hated me,” he said. “All I ever was to these people was ‘Ben Solo, the weirdo.’ I don’t think they knew a single thing about me, really. I just… I wasn’t part of the gang, so to speak. And I don’t think it helped that I punched two of the guys that day.”

Mitaka was quiet for a moment, then sighed and placed a hand on Ben’s shoulder.

“Mr Hux wasn’t certain you remembered that part,” he admitted. “But you don’t have to worry - they never reported it to the police, or to the disciplinary board here. The matter was settled in other ways, and they bear you no ill will. I can promise you that.”

Ben wasn’t so sure, but before he could say anything the elevator came to a halt, and the doors opened to let them step out into the reception area of the administrative department. When they approached the reception desk, the receptionist, a lady who looked only a few years older than Ben, looked up from her computer. Her jaw dropped when she recognized him, but she quickly caught herself - flashing them both a bright smile.

“I almost didn’t recognize you!” she said with an embarrassed little laugh. “You here for your things?” Ben just nodded - not really interested in talking to her. She wasn’t exactly one of his favourite people in the building. “I think Bryan still has them over by his desk. He was supposed to bring them out here for you, but it seems he forgot. Sorry. They’ve, uhm, been a bit swamped in there this week.”

“It’s okay,” Ben shrugged.

It wasn’t, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to tell her that. He had hoped his stuff - whatever that turned out to be - would be ready and waiting at the reception desk so he could take it and leave without having to set foot inside his old workplace. But life, it seemed, was still a fucking bitch, and now Ben would have to walk through the entire open space, with all the dozens of rows of desks - where every single one of them could see him over the little screens separating the workstations from each other - back to his old desk, and then back out again.

People were already looking, he knew that. He could feel the stares, and he could hear the whispers start to spread. Great. Just fucking great. Mitaka seemed to have noticed as well, because a hand landed on his shoulder once more, in a small gesture of support. It helped enormously, and as soon as they were out of here, he’d make sure to tell him so. After taking a deep breath, as discreetly as he could, he headed into the giant, open plan space that had been his workplace for over a year before his rather spectacular exit. It seemed most of the damage had been repaired, though it did not escape his notice that the carpeting had been replaced in about half the space - he figured they’d realized the blood wasn’t going to come out - and only a few of the small screens still bore little cracks or missed chips of glass at the edges.

Everyone was staring. They weren’t even trying to hide it.

_‘Is that Ben Solo?’_ he heard someone say, incredulously. ‘ _Holy shit, when did he become a total hottie?_ ’  Ben clenched his jaw. He didn’t need any reminders that he’d never been very attractive. _‘Does anyone know what happened? Where he went?’_ _‘Didn’t he go to the loony bin? Isn’t that what usually happens?’_ _‘You don’t come outta the loony bin looking that good!’_ _‘What’s going on- oh! The hell is that oddball doing back?’_ _‘I always thought he was kinda dorky, but damn! If I’d know the guy could look like that I might have put in a move!’_ Ben shuddered, trying not to listen to the comments. How could they not realize he could hear them? Part of him was regretting the whole thing - he should have just told Ethan to have them throw the stuff away, to pretend it didn’t exist; anything that could have saved him from having to go through this - while another part wanted to snark the skin off the lot of them, and a third part just wanted to get back into the elevator and go up to Ethan’s floor and hide for a decade while Mitaka got his stuff. But he knew he had to do this. His therapist had told him it would bring him some closure, and it would help his self esteem quite a bit to know he had gone back, despite what had happened. It was about proving to himself that he was capable of owning his past, owning his experiences and feelings - of facing the bad things head on, like she knew he could. Like everyone who bothered to get to know him knew he could. He had an extra appointment booked for tomorrow, so he could process the day’s events safely. She was so good, his therapist, and so incredibly gentle with him - if Ben hadn’t already loved Ethan more than he had words to describe, finding him this therapist would have done it.

Bryan had, apparently, not noticed them approaching - which was weird, considering Ben was wearing his new boots, which were definitely not sneaking friendly - and he startled a bit when he looked up and found Ben and Mitaka there.

“Jesus Christ!” he exclaimed. “You scared the shit outta me, man.”

“Wasn’t trying to,” Ben mumbled, growing more uncomfortable by the second, because _people were still staring and whispering about him, and he needed it to fucking stop_. “Sorry.”

“Nah, man, it’s cool,” Bryan assured him, leaning down to retrieve the small box containing what was left of Ben’s personal items. “Guess you’re here for these? I forgot to bring them out to reception, sorry. It’s been a fucking madhouse around here-... Uhm, I mean, it’s been pretty, uhm, _intense_.”

Ben accepted the box, making a point to himself about not looking at the contents of it, but just as he was about to thank Bryan, and then leave, Bryan opened his damn mouth again.

“You, uhm, you look good, man,” he said, scratching his neck awkwardly. “Guess wherever they put you was a good place, huh? Where did you go, by the way? There’s been all kinds of rumours, you know. What with you thrashing the place, and then just disappearing. Gotta tell you, man, that was fucking freaky! You didn’t exactly look the type, you know? You always struck me as a bit like that guy from _Big Bang Theory_ \- you know, Sheldon? - but I guess you’ve got a bit of hulk in you too, huh?” He patted Ben on the shoulder, and it took every inch of Ben’s self control not to flinch. Only three people in the world were allowed to touch him, and Bryan was sure as fuck not one of them. “Gotta say, though, Ben - I thought you’d be back, I really did. But, uhm, did you find a new job, or what? They didn’t fire you, right? ‘Cause that’d be shitty. I mean, sure, you kinda freaked everyone the hell out, but we all kinda figured that, you know, ‘Ben will be back, once he’s been let out from wherever they put him.’”

Before Ben could really say anything, Mitaka - the sweet angel of a man - stepped in and saved him. Fixing Bryan with a surprisingly harsh glare, he said:

“That will be ‘Mr Solo’ to you. And considering his status as half owner of this company, he will not have the time - nor, indeed, any reason - to come back to this department. Further, I strongly suggest you and your colleagues refrain from more gossip. It’s hardly appropriate to talk about one’s superiors in this way, I’m sure you agree.” Turning to Ben, he gave his most professional and respectful smile. “Let me take that box for you, sir. I believe Mr Hux will be finished soon, and I know the two of you have much to discuss.”

Ben was damn near dumbstruck by Mitaka’s little display, and he let him take the box, before turning around and following him back out to reception. Complete silence accompanied them on the way; Mitaka had made sure he was heard by everyone within a four desk radius from where they had been standing, and it had obviously had quite the effect on the admin staff. People were still staring, but it was a different kind of staring now. Ben detected shock in the air - which was pretty expected - but there was also… awe? No matter what Mitaka had said about gossiping, Ben knew that the second the elevator doors closed behind them, the entire department would be climbing over each other trying to figure out what had happened. But Ben didn’t care. Let them gossip. He was done with that whole place, and he was never, _ever_ , going back. Ethan had promised that no matter what, he would never have to set foot there again - he was an artist now, he had other, more important, things to do with his days.

They finally made it to the elevator, and as they stepped inside, Ben took one last look at the place where he once thought his life had found its ending point, and breathed a sigh of relief as the doors closed. He was done. It was all over. _Finally_. He looked over at Mitaka, who was still holding his little box, and who still looked a bit… fighty. He looked both proud and a little surprised, and Ben guessed he didn’t get to snark at people very often.

“Thank you,” Ben said, giving him a little smile. “For standing up for me. It really means a lot.”

Mitaka blushed, but returned his smile with a bashful one of his own.

“I normally only get to tell off the people at the Starbucks across the street. Well, them and the interns.” He chuckled. “Am I a horrible person if I thought that was rather… _fun_?”

Ben couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

“No,” he said. “No, you’re really not. The looks on everyone’s faces… It made my whole week! You should do stuff like that more often. You’re really good at it.”

“I’ve learned from the best.” Mitaka leaned in slightly, to whisper conspiratorially: “Don’t tell Mr Hux, but working for him provides me with a very thorough education in the art of intimidation. I’ve never met anyone who can have people cowering in their chairs by means of a raised eyebrow - but Mr Hux, he’s.... There’s no one quite like him, is there?”

Ben wholeheartedly agreed. Ethan Hux was truly one of a kind - although he knew that he and Mitaka thought so for _very_ different reasons.

\---

Upstairs, what Ethan Hux was considering one of a kind was his human resource department’s inability to understand that Imperial was no longer in need of a graphic artist to fill out its design team. They’d called him away from his lunch with Phasma - a _working_ lunch, at that - to show him the portfolio of an artist from a competing firm they’d been headhunting for the past several weeks. Why the matter had suddenly become so pressing that it had to be attended to in the middle of their appetizer - a warm basket of bread that came accompanied by a dip of cheese and spinach - Hux hadn’t the faintest idea, but he’d been pulled away so quickly that he hadn’t had time to do anything more than grab a slice of the bread to munch on as he walked, Phasma waving devilishly behind him as she dipped her own slice into the still bubbling cheese.

It had been bad enough that his lunch was interrupted, but what was worse still was the knowledge that he had been scheduled to meet Ben in the lobby in little more than an hour’s time. He was familiar enough with the head of his human resource department’s penchant for talking himself in circles - especially where salary offerings were concerned - that Hux was not at all confident he’d find his way to the ground floor by the time Ben arrived. His department head may have said he wanted to move, and move now - to strike while the iron was hot, as it were - but Hux had made his partner a _promise._ H _e_ knew how difficult this would be for Ben; the two of them rarely spoke about what had happened the day they met, but there wasn’t a day Hux walked through the doors to Imperial that he didn’t think about it. Of how differently things could have gone, had there been no interview, had he not chosen that day to walk through his administrative department, and there was no doubt the possibilities were more poignant for Ben than they were for him.  

Hux had been hesitant to ask Ben back to Imperial at all, though he knew his partner capable of it. Leaving him to fend for himself was unthinkable, and thirty minutes into the meeting with no end in sight, he’d been frantically texting Mitaka, instructing him to meet Ben in his stead and take him straight to the administrative department to gather his things, then straight up to Hux’ office from there. No stops, no detours.

For another 35 minutes after that, he’d listened as patiently as he could, but when a text came through from Mitaka that he and Ben were headed for the elevator up to Hux’ floor, he put an end to the meeting by slamming the salary proposal he’d been holding down onto the conference table with enough force that his department head straightened so quickly he nearly toppled his chair over backwards. That did the trick, his instructions to “offer the artist whatever you damn well please, it’s not as if we need him anyway when one of the logos that came out of our firm was nominated for an award from the _Professional Association of Design_ this year _”_ met with stunned silence.

It wasn’t his finest moment, Hux had to admit, but it _had_ resulted in him catching the elevator just in time to intercept Ben and Mitaka outside the door to his office, and he didn’t have it in him to be sorry about that. Ben certainly _looked_ well enough, Hux thought. He was chatting easily with Mitaka, his assistant’s hand resting on his shoulder, but that didn’t stop Hux from giving him the once over, looking for any signs of strain as he approached the pair.

“Ben, love!” he greeted, pausing for only a moment before wrapping his partner soundly in his arms. The leather of Ben’s jacket was still slightly chilled from the weather outside, his cheek cool and dry against Hux’, and Hux rubbed his palms up and down Ben’s arms, encouraging warmth. “I’m so glad you found your way; I’ve been distracted by thoughts of seeing you here all day.” When he pulled back, he held Ben at arm’s length, so he could continue his inspection. Ben’s cheeks were rosy, his hair wild and windblown, a few strands dislodged from the part to fall into his face. Hux was convinced it wouldn’t have looked good on anyone else, but it did on Ben, the smell of early spring clinging to him as his lips twitched into the barest beginnings of a smile.

Though the smile was genuine, as Ben’s always were when they were directed at Hux, there was a hint of tiredness to it, something in the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. It might have fooled someone else, but all it took was one look at the tightness in his jaw for Hux to know that this had taken more out of his partner than he was was going to admit, even if the skinny jeans - paired now with the studded belt Phasma had procured - did just as much to flatter him as they had the first time he had seen Ben in them.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there to meet you,” Hux said, his mouth twisting. “There was some sort of emergency in human resources - and by that I mean no one in this company is capable of wiping their own asses without my explicit instruction.” Mitaka laughed in agreement, and Hux favored him with a rare smile of knowing approval. “I got here as soon as circumstances allowed, but it was still later than it should have been.” He pressed a chaste kiss to the corner of Ben’s mouth, watching as the pink on his cheeks deepened. “Forgive me, Ben - I trust Mitaka did an acceptable job of making you feel at home?”

“Yeah, he did,” Ben said, as Hux opened the door to his office and escorted the two of them inside, his fingers just brushing the dip in Ben’s spine as he did so. “I don’t think I could’ve done it without him. He really saved my ass there - so don’t worry. He did a great job.” When Ben came around the front of his desk, Hux pulled the chair there out for him, humming to indicate he was listening. He gestured for him to sit, which Ben did, his eyes growing wide at the view from the picture windows, stretching out over 5th Avenue and beyond to frame the collection of skyscrapers that housed the headquarters of some of the most influential men in the country.

Hux chuckled as he took the seat across from Ben, watching him watch the people moving on the streets below. It was as if had never laid eyes on the city before - but then again, Hux supposed, from here, he hadn’t. Few people had.

“Quite the view, isn’t it?” he said, studying the fascinated set of Ben’s features, the way his eyes tracked cars rendered small by distance. Before this, it hadn’t occurred to him that this would be the first time Ben saw the view from his office. His partner had worked at Imperial for over a year before Hux had met him, but now that Ben was seated across from him, Hux realized he should have guessed he’d never had any reason to venture beyond the lower floors. The chances that someone from administration would find themselves on one of Imperial’s upper floors - reserved for the firm’s highest ranking executives - were slim, and Hux grinned to himself, pleased in the knowledge that he had been the one to bring Ben up here. The view _was_ a staggering one, though in his opinion, not quite as good as the one from his penthouse.

“Ben, do you remember when I offered to show you the view from my penthouse?” he asked, leaning forward in his chair to cover Ben’s hand with his own, moving his fingers over the bumps in Ben’s knuckles, and Ben nodded, still looking over Hux’ head and down onto the streets of New York below. “I suspect that may have been an early attempt to impress you, now that I think of it, and now… well now, all of it is yours.” He turned his head far enough that he could see what had Ben so enthralled, tried to remember his own first time looking out these windows. “That view and this one too - which is a good thing, since you seem to like it so much.”

Mitaka, who had come to stand beside Ben’s chair, hovering somewhere just behind him, nodded, looking very much like he was ready to package up the whole firm and gift it to him, if it made Ben happy. Hux couldn’t blame him - not when he would gladly have done the same damn thing - and now it was Mitaka’s turn to give him a knowing smile.

“You’re welcome here anytime you like - you know that, right? The place is as much yours as it is mine, and I want you to feel you can make use of it as you wish,” Hux continued, “though I know you have other plans today. I don’t mean to keep you.” That wasn’t exactly the truth. Really, he would have loved nothing more than to keep Ben here for the remainder of the afternoon, looking out his windows just like he was right now while Hux worked through the pile of emails in his inbox. But he knew that Ben was already tired, and that he was almost out of those little tins of paint - the acrylic ones? - he loved so much. If his partner stayed here with him much longer, he’d be too tired out to go anywhere but back to the penthouse, and Hux wasn’t so selfish that he’d allow that. “I just wasn’t willing to lose out on the opportunity of seeing you at all today, just because of some poorly timed meeting. You were on your way to that art supply shop, weren’t you? The one we visited together once?”

Ben nodded enthusiastically, flipping his hand over in Hux’ loose grasp so Hux could draw flowing, absent-minded patterns into the sensitive skin of his palm as they spoke.

“Yeah,” he confirmed. “I’m all out of both my black and white acrylic, and I really need it for the thing I’m working on. And they close early today, to go over their inventory - and I just, uhm, kinda need that paint today.” He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Am I still doing the coq au vin on Saturday, by the way? Just so I know if I need to go get the stuff for it - since I’m already out and about, I mean.”

His finger tracing the fate line of Ben’s palm, lightly enough that Ben’s hand jumped under his touch, Hux considered his question. Of course he _wanted_ the coq au vin - it was one of his favorite French dishes, one he’d never had the luxury of eating at home before, and when Ben had showed him the recipe the previous weekend, he had nearly salivated just looking at the list of ingredients. He’d been dreaming of the meal all week, as well as of the dessert he knew Ben would make to accompany it. Ben never made a meal without a dessert to finish it off, and thoughts of how tender the chicken would be after Ben got through with it had gotten him through many a dreadful meeting. However…

“Well, it’s not as if we can’t have it another day,” Hux conceded, thinking of how Ben already looked like he could have used a nap, trying valiantly not to knuckle at one of his eyes, and of how early he’d be going out to see his therapist in the morning. It was only Thursday, but a number of the ingredients required preparing beforehand, and he knew Ben would want to get a start on those tomorrow, if he was planning a Saturday meal. “We’re not entertaining, so we don’t have to worry there’s anyone we’ll disappoint, and any of the ingredients we _do_ have will certainly keep.” He at scratched his beard with his free hand, just behind his ear, as he talked. “I was hoping to leave the office early on Saturday anyway, and wouldn’t it be nice if we ordered in instead, spent the evening catching up? It’s been such a hectic week, and where there’s cooking, there’s bound to be dishes. Though the coq au vin’s supposed to be made in a slow cooker, isn’t it? At least according to the recipe you showed me. Do we even have a slow cooker? I suppose that would do away with a few of the dishes…”

“So…” Ben trailed off, his eyes narrowing at Hux. He spoke slowly, as if he was trying to parse the meaning of something. “Are you telling me you _don’t_ want to have the coq au vin on Saturday night?”

“No, no, it’s not that I don’t want to have it - I _do,_ I always want to have your cooking.” Hux rushed to explain himself; he couldn’t chance insulting Ben’s cooking skills, however inadvertently. “It’s just that there’s so much that comes with cooking a meal like that, and with all the preparations for the gala, not to mention your appointment in the morning, I just thought perhaps it might be easier if-”

“ _Ethan_ ,” Ben interrupted, his voice flat, that confused look still on his face - which was strange, considering Hux thought he was being quite clear. “DaVinci closes at 4:00. It’s what, 1:45 now? If I don’t go now, I won’t have enough time - I need to stock up on some other stuff too - and I’d really like to continue on the painting today. There’s not much left on it, and I’d rather not wait. All I need to know is whether or not I should pick up the rest of the stuff for dinner on Saturday, so: yes or no. One word. That’s all I need.”

Hux huffed out a sigh, now tapping his chin in thought. “I just hate to say no to such a lovely meal,” he said. “Really, it’s not so much a _‘no’_ as it is a ‘ _we’ll get to you later, darling, be patient with us.’_ Said lovingly, of course. But I _have_ been craving Greek lately; it’s been weeks since we’ve ordered from-”

Disentangling his hand from Hux’, Ben rose up out of his chair to lean across the desk, where he pressed a finger against his lips, cutting him off mid-word. He looked Hux dead in the eye before he spoke.

“Yes. Or. No.”

“Well, I- uh. I suppose I-” Hux’ lips continued moving against Ben’s finger, but when Ben fixed him with another stern look, Hux clamped them shut.

“One word,” Ben repeated, unrelenting.

Hux was silent for a moment. “No,” he said finally, his face falling at the chastisement. His tone was sullen, and he bit his tongue to keep further words from finding their way out. They should probably decide if they wanted to do their bigger dinner on Sunday then, he thought, or wait until the next weekend, but he kept those remarks to himself. “Not today.”

“Thank you. See, that wasn’t so hard was it? And I’ll even let it slide this time that you used three words instead of one,” he teased, brown eyes sparkling and a mischievous smirk pulling at the corners of his mouth. “I was starting to think I might have to threaten to not cook anything for a month or so.”

Rather than returning to his chair, he remained stretched across the desk, this time to lay a kiss on the side of Hux’ cheek, and Hux felt his nose scrunch up as it scratched over his beard. He liked the feeling so much that he turned his head to capture Ben’s mouth as well, the kiss so sweet that he almost didn’t hear Mitaka having a hearty laugh at his expense in the background.

He might have been the CEO of Imperial Marketing, but even Hux had to admit when he was beaten.

\---

Ben exited Imperial’s building with a sense of relief and closure - only to have that relief ripped away from him by the sound of a voice calling his name. He couldn’t help it; he froze to the spot, shrinking as he curled in on himself - 25 years of learned responses coming flooding back. His heart pounded in his chest, to the point where it was almost painful, and he had to work hard to draw a breath - his lungs had seemingly ceased to admit air into them. The cold sweat was already surfacing on his back and under his arms; it was only a matter of time before he’d be visibly sweating. Four months of good progress hanging by a thread as his past decided today was the perfect day to come back and haunt him. Two pairs of feet came into view. Ben would know those shoes anywhere; Leia’s fake Prada ankle-boots, slightly more worn now than last time he saw them, and Han’s ugly as hell brown suede shoes. Funny, how the sight of someone’s shoes could be so goddamn painful. He forced himself to look up, couldn’t give them the satisfaction of knowing they could still make him cower like a dog awaiting a beating.

“Benedetto Cesare Solo,” Leia said sternly. “When someone calls your name, you listen.”

“Sorry,” he said, trying to make it sound less apologetic than he would have six months ago, trying to stand his ground. “Didn’t hear you over all the people.”

“Whoa, watch that snark,” Han cut in. “That’s your mother you’re talking to.”

“I just said I didn’t hear you,” Ben protested. “There are like, a million people around here. What are you doing here, anyway?”

“Well, since you can’t even be bothered to pick up the phone when your parents call,” Leia said, in the voice that was like a gallon of honey poured over the blade of a knife. “You really left us no choice. I would have said something about you not calling, either - but we all know you’re far too self-centered for that.” Ben was about to object, but Leia wasn’t finished. “You always expect everyone else to do all the work for you, but it’s our own fault, I guess, for spoiling you. But tell me, Ben, did you really think it was appropriate for us to find out about that… _man_ , you’ve gotten yourself, from the tabloids? Everyone has been asking us about it, you know. You couldn’t be bothered to inform us, so we could prepare for the damage control?”

“Damage control?” Ben sputtered. “W-what the-!”

“Do you have any idea of what you have put your mother through during these months?” Han cut in. “Having to admit - to all of our friends - that you’re some kind of kept boy. Don’t you have any shame, Ben? It’s bad enough that you’re queer, you just had to go flaunt it in public too.”

“I’m not-!” Ben tried, but was cut off again.

“Who is he, Ben?” Leia demanded. “Is it true that it’s your boss? That it’s Ethan Hux you’re doing God knows what with nowadays?”

“Yeah, it is,” Ben said, raising his chin in defiance - trying to make himself look less small than he felt. “And he’s not my boss. Not anymore. He’s my partner, and he loves me.”

“Oh please,” Leia snorted. “Don’t call those perverted things ‘love.’ You don’t even understand what that word means. That’s something you’ll never know.” She fixed him with a look that managed to be full of despise and pity all at once. “Poor man, when he realizes what you’re like. He’s not gonna stay, you realize that? I can only hope you’re more well-behaved with him than you were at home, or you will never last.”

“H-he won’t-!” Ben protested, hating the way his voice cracked, hating how he knew they could hear it, could hear that they were getting to him, that he was cracking as fast as his voice was. “Y-you d-don’t know anything about- about us! D-don’t say that!”

Han and Leia shared a look - a look that Ben knew very well. That look said as clear as words how stupid they found him, how naive and ignorant; how he was their own, private joke. Keeping the tears away got harder by the second, but he knew he had to. He couldn’t let them make him cry. Not in public. It would only make it so much worse, would only spur them on, would only prove their point. He wanted to run away, run back inside and go back up to Ethan’s floor, hide for a year in his arms, wanted to never have to go anywhere alone ever again, wanted to.... just wanted to get away from this. But he knew that if he did, they would just find some absolutely horrendous way to get to him - he knew they wouldn’t hesitate to humiliate him in public, and he couldn’t risk it. Couldn’t risk them doing something that would hurt Ethan as well.

“Well, if he’s so serious about you,” Leia said, sweetly. “Then he won’t mind coming to dinner with us on Sunday. If he’s going to keep you around, we want to at least know he is up for the task.” It was a trap, and Ben had just walked right into it - the triumph in her gaze said as much. “I’m sure you haven’t forgotten where _Al di la Trattoria_ is, I hope?” Ben could only shake his head. “Good. I expect both of you there at 7 o’clock. Sharp. You think you can remember that?” She looked like she was about to take Han with her and go, but she paused, giving him a once over that made him feel like dirt. “You do have some actual clothes to put on, right? I’d rather you didn’t embarrass us further by showing up there looking like… white trash. Maybe your sugar daddy likes those things, but the people at _Al di la Trattoria_ will hardly appreciate you coming there, looking like a clown.”

With that, they walked away - giving Ben zero chance to reply, to defend himself, to do anything other than stand there and try to not cry. He was failing, and he knew it. Shame burned red hot in the pit of his stomach, and he curled back in on himself, wrapping his arms around his chest in an attempt to make himself smaller, less noticeable. The clothes suddenly didn’t feel so good on him anymore - they felt stupid, like a costume, like they made him look like the joke both Phasma and Ethan had assured him wasn’t. He had to get out of here, but walking through New York bawling his eyes out felt like the single worst thing he could do right now, and he felt even worse. By now people passing him were looking at him, clearly wondering what the hell he was doing just standing there like some idiot.

Then he saw it, right across the street; the town car, the silvery one. Ethan had called for the driver - how the fuck could he have forgotten that? Cursing himself, Ben hurried to cross the street, and more or less dove into the backseat. It wasn’t as if he had any dignity to preserve; he’d finally began crying while he was crossing, and he could barely get the words out when the driver asked where he wanted to go. Home. He wanted to go home. Maybe. He honestly wasn’t sure. The driver had nodded, and headed for home - saying it was at least a good start.

\---

It was even colder now, and Ben really hadn’t worn enough clothes for the icy winds today. The bench he was sitting on was like a block of ice, and it was a small blessing that at least it wasn’t wet. He usually liked Washington Square Park - it had always been his favourite - but right now, it was just cold, and grey, and fucking awful. At least the weather made sure there were less people than usual out and about, because Ben had been crying his eyes out for the last… It had to be hours now. He just couldn’t go home. Not after those comments. Not after what Leia had implied him to be. He’d almost had a panic attack in the car on the way home, and had begged the driver to drop him off at the park as fast as he could, because Ben needed air, needed to move around, needed to do something to clear his head and try to keep the attack from happening. The driver hadn’t questioned, only told him to be careful with himself, and that he was only a phonecall away if Ben needed him.

It wasn’t just what Leia _said_ , it was the effects of her words as well. Ben wanted to hurt himself. The anxiety was suffocating him, crawling like millions of ants in his skin, and his mind was replaying his every little fuck-up from the past year, and Ben’s only method to get it to stop when he was alone was to grab the nearest sharp object and put it to his skin. He had a lot of sharp objects at home, but no one to stop him, and he’d made such progress, and he really, really _didn’t_ want to do it. But he _did_. But he didn’t. And he was afraid of himself, which didn’t exactly help the situation. At least here in the park, there were people around. He’d wandered aimlessly for awhile, before the tears became too much, and he had to sit down somewhere - because he could no longer see where the hell he was going, and it was getting hard to stay upright. And to think he had begun to feel pretty good about this day, too.

Life, Ben thought, was such a complete fucking _bitch_.

\---

By the time Hux signed off on the last of his paperwork for the day, the sun was well past setting; he hadn’t noticed it growing as late as it had, but when he looked up from the glow of his laptop, he was greeted with near darkness. It was still early enough in the year that the evening came on early; they wouldn’t gain the hours they’d lost for another few weeks yet, and he stifled a yawn into the crook of his arm as he glanced at the time in the corner of his screen. Just past the dinner hour, but Ben would be home by now, he expected - home and waiting for him. It was strange that there hadn’t been a call or text already, alerting Hux that he was home safely, but if Ben was outfitted with new paints, there was every chance he’d gone straight to work, lost in his art the moment he returned to the penthouse. If Hux hadn’t noticed time passing, Ben probably hadn’t either - at least that was what Hux told himself as he swept the completed paperwork to the side and scrolled through his list of recent calls until he found Ben’s name. There was no reason to worry.

The phone rang three times before Ben picked up - just long enough for Hux’ heart to leap into his throat - and when finally he did, the voice on the other end of the line sounded tinny, far away. He was breathing harshly, as if he’d been running - the sounds he was making not really words so much as they were hitches of breath, snatches of something from the back of his throat, the usual baritone of his voice distorted and funny, and where Hux’ heart had been lodged somewhere behind his adam’s apple before, now it had moved up into his mouth, and he had to swallow it back down before he could speak.

“Ben,” he said, into the phone, clutching it to his ear. “Sweetheart, where are you? What’s happening?” He almost asked if Ben was alright, but that seemed a stupid question; something was very wrong, and Hux hadn’t called him for _hours_ to check, and maybe if he had, he’d have known about it before now, before it got this bad. Hux could have kicked himself - how could he had been so _stupid_? He should have known better.

For a moment, there was only the desperate sound of Ben’s breathing, what Hux thought might have been wind in the background making it difficult to hear. (And good god, was he _outside_? In this weather? The thought had Hux gritting his teeth.) But just when Hux would have said his name again, Ben gave his answer.

“C-come get me. P-please,” he gasped, the words so the quiet they were almost lost on what was now unmistakably wind whistling behind them. Somewhere in the distance, there was the sound of a horn honking as a car passed by.

“Come get you?” Hux could hear his own voice shaking. Already he was up out of his chair and shoving his laptop into his briefcase, gathering his peacoat and scarf - thoughts of the scarf Ben hadn’t had with him when he visited Imperial earlier that day plaguing his mind. Early spring in New York was brutal - it might have been temperate enough when Ben was out earlier, but with the sun down now, the temperature would have dropped several degrees. Had Ben been dressed for that? If he’d had his leather jacket, he might have been warm - not warm _enough_ , of course, but not like to freeze. Hux tried to recall what his partner had been wearing as he shoved the papers he’d forgotten to put in his briefcase before snapping it shut under his arm, but all he could remember were those damned jeans and the scarf that hadn’t been wound about his neck.

“ _Please_?” Ben sniffed. “I just- I-I wanna go home.” And his voice hitched on the word, turning into a sob, the kind that had Hux’ heart - the one that had been in his throat and then in his mouth - sinking right down to his toes, so that his insides went icy where it should have been. Ben was quiet after that, though there was a rustling close to the phone that sounded like Ben wiping the sleeve of his jacket across his eyes and nose.

Which at least meant he was wearing a jacket, and Hux thanked god for small favors as he rounded the corner from his office.

“Of course. Of course I’ll come get you,” he said, punching the call button for the elevator with entirely too much force. Once, twice, then three times - just to make sure. “I just need to know where you are. We can worry about the rest later - okay, sweet? Whatever is going on, we’ll deal with it, the two of us. I just need to know where to find you.” The lights of the elevator had never pinged more slowly, and with a growl and a fist pounded a final time against the call button, Hux abandoned that idea, turning instead for the stairs. Imperial Marketing had 110 stories - how long could walking them possibly take? “Can you tell me where you are? Do you have an address?” He hesitated outside the stairwell, waiting for Ben’s answer.

“I-” Ben gulped, and then tried again. “I’m-... W-Washington Square Park. I’m in- in Washington Square Park. C-can you get here?”

Hux nodded, then cursed himself for nodding, because Ben couldn’t see him.

“Of course, in a heartbeat.” He passed the park on almost a daily basis. It wasn’t far from their penthouse - another small favor, because he wanted to get Ben home and warm as soon as possible. They could work out the rest from there.

“I’m by- by the arch. I’m at the… the, uhm, bench there.” Ben let out a wet-sounding, choked laugh. “P-people don’t really- uhm, don’t really c-come here at night, apparently. I-it’s just me, and, uhm, like t-two more people here, and… uhm, they’re b-both looking at me like I’m f-fucking c-crazy.” Hux thought he could hear his teeth chattering, and he hated himself for the scarf now wrapped around his own neck. The only consolation, he thought, was that he would give it to Ben just as soon as he had him in his arms.

“Alright. Alright then,” he said, steadying the shaking in his voice and the racing of his thoughts. The arch, that was a hell of a place to start. “Don’t focus on them. Focus on me.  Focus on my voice. I’m in the stairwell now, so I might lose you, but it’ll only be for a few moments.” Ben made a noncommittal noise, and Hux gripped the railing, wedging the phone between his shoulder and ear. “Just stay on the line, alright?” When he started the stairs, he took them two at a time. One hundred and ten stories - that wasn’t so much, really.

“I’m coming for you, Ben.”

Already the first story was behind him.

\---

“Ben.”

By the time Hux approached the park bench where Ben was sitting, the sky had started up a slow drizzle, cold and miserable, the New York streets steaming as water hit pavement. His driver had navigated the evening traffic as well as he always did, but it hadn’t been quickly enough for Hux, who kept Ben on the line the whole way, Ben giving one word answers or little grunts of affirmation in response to Hux’ running commentary, the chattering of his teeth worsening by the minute.

Ben looked up at the sound of his name, his hair falling into his eyes, as sodden as if he’d just gotten out of the shower. It might have been a slow rain, but it was steady, and Ben had made no move to find cover when it started to fall so that now, it collected in the hollow between his eyes and dripped down the bridge of his nose. A droplet hung on the very tip and only fell when Ben sniffed, wiping at his face with an equally sodden sleeve, as if he’d only just noticed the annoyance. He didn’t say anything, just looked at Hux with hunched shoulders and drew his knees up further, so only the toes of his shoes touched the sidewalk.

“Ben,” he repeated, and he would have sat down next to him, but the wood of the bench was stained dark with rain, so he crouched down in front of Ben instead, water already collecting in his hair.

“I- They f-found me,” Ben said over the sound of tires sloshing through a puddle, the siren of a police car taking up its cry in the distance. His voice was flat, and his eyes focused on the pavement beneath Hux’ feet. “M-my parents. They g-got me o-outside of Imperial. I’m so fucking _stupid_ ! I can’t believe I-… that I thought they wouldn’t come f-find me.” He bit the words out, then bit his lip for good measure, his fingers curling around the phone still in his hands and digging in. “They- uhm, they w-want to meet you. _Fuck,_ they think I’m- that I’m…They think you’re just, uhm, just using me. They called me a-... No, I can’t. I just… They just managed to push all the buttons, as usual. I’m sorry, I’m such a fucking mess. It’s just that… They said you’d leave me, once- uhm, once you realized how- how selfish, and spoiled, and- and crazy I am, and I just...” Ben’s eyes closed tightly, the droplet that slipped down his nose this time having nothing to do with the rain. “Now I can’t stop thinking about it, and I hate myself for it, but I _can’t_! C-cause it’s true, isn’t it? You could have anyone you want. S-someone better than me. Someone n-normal. And I know that, and I know I’ll never be normal, and I’m just… I’m so _scared_.” He stifled a gasp that was half a laugh, half a sob, into a tightly balled fist, biting his knuckle.

“I’m so fucking scared every day that you’ll leave me, and- and then I go and- and m-make a goddamn idiot of myself, and still you a-actually come for me. I can’t-... What the hell are you even doing here, Ethan? Y-you could be s-somewhere warm and dry and nice and with someone who doesn’t have a goddamn breakdown every other goddamn day over the stupidest fucking shit. You- you could have a p-proper partner. One who’s actually- actually worthy of you.” When he shook his head, sending water flying, Hux’ hand come up to draw the fist away from his mouth, before he could do any real damage. “And still you’re h-here with me. In this stupid fucking park. In the rain. While I cry like a fucking idiot.”

“Hey now,” Hux chided affectionately, Ben’s hand flexing in his, tremors from the cold racing up and down the tendons in his arm. His throat was tight when he forced a smile, rain blurring his vision. “I happen to quite like this park. There’s no reason to speak so poorly of it - nor of yourself. I don’t think you’re an idiot - I never have.” In one swift motion, he had taken off his own peacoat and stood to wrap it around Ben’s shoulders, and immediately, the rain began to dampen his shirt, the linen fabric sticking to his shoulders, a chilled second skin. As he stood there shuddering, Ben looking up at him through clumped lashes, Hux considered saying aloud how cold it was, and how dark. How late it was getting, and how dangerous this park could be late at night. How he could see Ben shivering from here. How he loved Ben and hated his parents - these people he’d never met but whose words he heard repeated back to him in Ben’s darkest moments - in equal measure. How much he wanted Ben and how little anything anyone else had to say would change that.

But Ben knew all those things, and for all his love of words, Hux recognized what Ben needed right now had nothing to do with speaking. Just a few hours earlier, his partner hadn’t been able to shut him up, but here, now - in the early March rain falling on Washington Square Park - Hux found he had very little to say at all.

“Ben, love _._ ” Hux wound an arm around Ben’s shoulders, helped him to stand, and took his weight when he knees threatened to buckle, the rain a persistent if unwelcome companion. “Let’s go _home.”_

\---

Ben didn’t speak again until they were back at the apartment, Hux peeling the wet clothing from his skin. He’d spent the car ride home slumped against Hux’ shoulder, staring out the window at the reflections of headlights off the rain, sniffling intermittently and drawing patterns in the condensation that fogged the glass, fingers swirling in the motions made familiar by Ben’s paintbrush.

Hux hadn’t pressed the issue. He knew Ben would talk about it when he was ready, and he let himself drift on the melody of _Bach’s Violin Concerto in A Minor_ as he stripped off Ben’s shirt, the heat turned up so high in the bedroom that he was starting to sweat under his collar, even as his own shirt clung wetly to his shoulders. Ben was still shuddering, and it might have had nothing to do with the temperature, but he didn’t want to take any chances. Hux could live with the discomfort. Beneath the shirt - not the same one that he’d come back in the day Phasma had taken him out shopping, but something similar, basic and well-fitted, that showed off his collarbones - Ben’s skin was prickled and pale, pruny where the rain and soaked through, and as Hux reached for his undershirt, fingers skimming the waistband of his jeans, the muscles in Ben’s stomach jumped at his touch, for the first time in weeks.

Hux schooled his expression, fighting back disappointment - weeks and months of hard work, of teaching Ben to react to his touch, of Ben teaching him how to anticipate those reactions, count them before they had happened, all undone by these strangers. Shadows who had taken what should have been a good day for Ben and turned it into something jagged and raw. He hadn’t asked if Ben had made it as far as to pick up the paint he needed, but he hadn’t seen it with him either, which suggested the answer was no. Sighing, he tried again for the hem of Ben’s undershirt, Ben not pulling away, but going rigid in a way that suggested it was an effort not to.

“N-no, you don’t have to-” he protested, backing up until his thighs hit the bed. He was still in his pants, soaked through at the knees, though at least the boots had kept his feet safe from the worst of the water, Hux hoped. “I-I’m a mess. I can d-do it.” But Hux silenced him with a touch to his sternum.

“Shhh… let me.” This time, when Hux reached for his undershirt, skirting the bare plain of his back as he untucked it from his belt, Ben let out a breath he had been holding, the muscles that had before tensed giving a final twitch before letting go. Permission granted, Hux peeled that off too and left it to fall in a sodden pile next to Ben’s feet, then went to work on his jeans, brushing aside his hands when he tried to help with his fly and instead instructing him to sit on the edge of the bed so he could untie his boots. They’d been laced up tightly, the knots made even more snug when they became wet, and Hux worked his fingers underneath and inside of them until they loosened, then pulled those off too, his hand going to massage the chilled, dimpled skin of Ben’s ankle before he began working his jeans down, past his knees, where they clung onto skin gone clammy with rainwater and now, in the heat of the bedroom, cold sweat.

This was the most he’d ever seen of Ben’s body, Hux’ pulse a slow and steady thrum just under his chin as he cast aside Ben’s mismatched socks. In the bathroom, the shower was already running, a cloud of steam spilling over into the bedroom, the air humid and sticky and smelling of the fragrant soap Hux liked - vetiver and vanilla and woodsmoke. Hux was heady with it, with the fierce protectiveness that made him want to cover Ben’s body with his, skin to skin, the cotton of his boxers gone, Hux the only barrier between Ben and the world outside of this apartment. The urge was primal - though not, he found, sexual - and he raised up on his haunches, hands planted on the mattress between Ben’s legs, to press a lingering kiss to Ben’s forehead, the wrinkles there smoothing out beneath his lips. He was, at once, too hot and too cold, Ben’s dogtags hanging heavy between them as Hux spread his hands along the tendons in Ben’s neck and fanned them out over his shoulders, butterfly wings in in the splay of his fingers.

“Oh sweet, let’s get you warmed up,” he whispered into Ben’s hairline, guiding Ben’s head down until his nose rested in the hollow of Hux’ throat, each intake of Hux’ breath a supreme effort whistling past. He relished the weight on his windpipe, the way it closed it up, so much that it wasn’t until they’d made their way to the bathroom that Hux undressed him the rest of the way, guided him to step out of his boxers, giving Ben an arm to lean on his he did and then untangling them from his feet.

And then Ben was naked, exposed, every inch of him in a way Hux had never seen before, no thin veneer of cotton obscuring any crevice or corner of him. No modesty left between them. His skin was not unmarked, there in the soft lighting of the bathroom, bulbs dim above the double sink, but Hux knew that already - knew that Ben’s body was a canvas for a starspray of freckles, of moles that were larger than those, dark as the rest of him was pale, raised and uneven so that Hux could locate them by the feel of his fingers alone. Of scars that would never heal, would never change, would only stretch and fold along with Ben’s skin in the years Hux would have with him. Some of them Hux knew the stories behind, others he would learn later, or maybe never, and as Ben wrapped his arms around himself, fingers finding the spaces between his ribs, Hux thought there was no part of Ben he didn’t want to make part of him too - from the nick in his knuckle, gained the day Hux had met him, to the weak slope of his chin, to the way his dick hung when he wasn’t aroused.

“I love you,” Hux said, and meant it - for everyone who had said it and hadn’t, for everyone who hadn’t said it at all - and the shedding of his own clothing, whatever Thannison had chosen, or Hux, or Ethan, or whoever he had been at the time, came as naturally as the way he looked into Ben’s eyes, like he’d never looked at anything else. Under the spray of the shower, the tile slick and wet beneath their feet, Ben became pliant in his hands, clay that Hux molded into shape - arching his neck as Hux lathered shampoo into his hair, tilting his head so he could reach easily behind his ear. It wasn’t the shower Hux had imagined they’d share - the only touch to Ben’s cock one meant to wipe it as clean as the rest of him, his twitch of interest set aside in favor of a tender kiss to his temple even when Hux’ dick rose to attention as well - but it was the one they had. Nothing like Hux had pictured, just like the rest of their relationship. As unexpected as everything else he had shared with Ben, so strange and enchanting and hesitant and breathtaking and at once everything he’d never known how to want and everything he had that when Ben’s breath hitched in his throat, Hux’ did too, his hands stilling on Ben’s hips, where they slipped up and down his sides.

In that moment, moist air trapped behind frosted glass, Hux could see the hundred showers they’d share after this, the morning he’d hold Ben up against the wall and push into him, Ben’s legs wrapping around him as the water pounded their backs, the evening they’d slip and collide, heads banging, after sharing a bottle of wine stronger than they intended. The day Phasma would catch them here, startle them, when Hux was made late for work. They’d never hear the end of it, he was sure of that, and Hux smiled to himself. But none, he thought, would be better than this - than Ben’s mouth slightly open, cheeks pink with warmth, tongue darting out to lick at the water that ran down his face as Hux laved a cloth across the blade of his shoulder.

This was what a man _lived_ for. What a man would die for. And as Hux wrapped Ben, his skin still steaming and pearled with dew, in a towel that had once been used only for display in his master bath, he knew he had lived enough for a thousand men.

It was time Ben’s parents knew it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're reaching the end now, dear readers! There are only two more updates to look forward to after this one, but don't despair - Team Redhead isn't done with you yet. There are other adventures to be had - in New England this time, perhaps? We suppose you'll have to wait and find out!
> 
> For now, if you have questions or comments about these chapters or what's to come, you can find us over on tumblr - Loke at ficlet-machine, and Cat at thegoodlannister, as always!


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warnings in this chapter for: homophobia, ableism, and verbal abuse.

Hux didn’t go into work the next morning. It wasn’t an ideal time for him to be absent with the preparations for the gala in full swing, but for all his comments about his team being unable to wipe their own asses without him, there were some of them he trusted - Phasma and Mitaka foremost among them, of course - and he would have had little choice in the matter even if he hadn’t. There was no leaving Ben - not when Hux could barely rouse him the next morning to convince him to eat something with his medication, and even that had been only a few bites, each of them hard-fought. Despite having scarcely the energy to lift his head, Ben, being Ben, still retained enough presence of mind to question why Hux wasn’t at work; no matter how poorly he felt, there was always the concern that he would make himself a burden to Hux, and though he’d poked only his nose out from under the blankets when Hux had first sat on the edge of the bed, a hand resting on the blankets over his hip, that had been the first question mumbled from his lips: _Shouldn’t you be at the office by now?_

Hux had learned a thing or two about shushing Ben - about how what worked best was finding that spot behind his ear, but it was difficult underneath all of the blankets, and even more difficult still when Ben seemed on the verge of tears every time he managed more than a few words. His eyes had filled when Hux informed him he wouldn’t be going anywhere until Bed did, and by that time, there’d been no question they wouldn’t make it to the appointment Ben had set up with his psychiatrist that morning. He’d tried to wake Ben in time that they could still find their way across town without hurrying - Ben needed the appointment now more than ever - but if he remembered it at all, he didn’t say anything about it, just covered his face with his hands, and it had been left to Hux to call and make their excuses. Forcing Ben out of bed and down onto the streets of New York, for all he knew, might have done more harm than good.

Thus had started three of the most difficult days in Hux’ recent memory. Hux kept his promise. They didn’t leave the apartment - neither of them, though Hux asked Phasma over at one point to bring in some essentials, which she did, accompanied by a box of candies from a shop called _Serendipity,_ which Hux hadn’t asked for. While Hux hadn’t told her the specifics of what had happened, she’d put together that it had something to do with Ben, and Phasma had been adamant that the chocolates would not only help, but were necessary to Ben’s well-being (though she’d left the actual delivery of them to Hux, shooting worried glances toward the bedroom door from her spot by the kitchen sink, a subtlety Hux would once have never thought her capable of).

Phasma’s confidence in the chocolates’ powers had made it even worse when Ben refused to do more than look at them, leaving the box on the table by the bed and instead wrapping his arms around his middle when his stomach growled angrily, hugging himself so hard Hux could count the white outlines of his fingers where the grey tee-shirt he’d been wearing for the past two days had ridden up in the back. (It was the same one Hux had changed him into, still damp and unresisting, after the shower he’d given him on Thursday night. Hux had tried to convince him to change into another after a second night of sleeping in it, but to no avail.) Ben claimed his nausea had returned, and Hux believed it - no one could be wound as tightly as Ben was and have their appetite unaffected, but he suspected there was more to it than that. His partner looked at the chocolates like something he wasn’t allowed, sometimes taking the clear plastic covering away to run his finger over their surfaces, all smooth and perfectly formed, though they varied in shape and size according to flavor.

Hux knew better than to tell Ben he could eat them if he wanted. It wasn’t that easy, and they remained untouched by the bed until Saturday evening, when Ben had finally fallen into a fitful sleep after the better part of an hour spent with Hux rubbing circles into his back while episodes of sitcoms they had already seen three times over played on the television, the volume so low he couldn’t make out what the characters were saying. Feeling a little guilty, Hux helped himself to one whose surface was swirled and shiny and midnight dark - dark chocolate, his favorite, the first thing he’d eaten all day save for half a sandwich he’d split with Ben earlier in a desperate attempt to get him to eat _something_. He tapped a nail on the top before taking a bite.

The chocolate was _divine_ , with just the right touch of bitterness, and as Hux licked his fingers clean, he understood why Phasma had thought to bring them. If Ben couldn’t bring himself to eat these, there was little chance of getting him to even look at anything else.

Hux had helped himself to another one, vowing he’d buy Ben more of them - as many as he wanted - when he felt well enough to eat them. The second had been filled with nougat, chewy and decadent, so sweet it made his teeth ache and his belly clench at having been so long without something substantial inside of it as beside him Ben’s head moved restlessly on the pillow at the muted sound of the laugh track. Another day down, another one behind them. Another day of Ben’s constant apologies, of him claiming he was a mess, one sure to drag Hux down if he stayed with him a second longer, of him curling away from Hux’ touch one moment and clutching at it the next, of him making nasty work of his cuticles, shredding them relentlessly whenever Hux’ hands weren’t there to stop him. Another day of watching Ben struggle not to retreat further and then doing it anyway - because why? Because that was what he thought he _deserved_? Because he half-expected Hux to leave, and was preparing himself for the eventuality?

Outside, it had still been early evening, the sun just set, but all the lights in the bedroom had been off for hours, and despite not moving much more than Ben had, Hux’ eyes burned with exhaustion in the glow from the television. As he drew his knees up to his chin, taking care not to dislodge the blankets Ben had wrapped himself in, there was nothing Hux wanted more than to forget that Han and Leia Solo had ever existed, to cut them out his life (and Ben’s) the way he had cut out his own father. But that, he knew, wasn’t possible. The fingerprints of their treatment were not so easily erased; Ben wasn’t Hux, and while he could forbid them from coming near the apartment, could have their calls screened and their number blocked, that didn’t mean he had any idea of how to stop them from reaching Ben in the ways that counted, even if they never spoke to him directly again.

The dinner was the following evening, at a restaurant Hux had never heard of and never cared to. The fact that Hux was entertaining going was testament to just how desperate he was - not that he feared a couple of second-rate accountants from New Jersey. He didn’t; there were, in fact, tall bridges and snakes of no impressive size that he feared more. It was the idea of visiting their equally second-rate Italian restaurant, of having to turn his sneer into a smile and play nicely with them, that set Hux on edge. He wouldn’t have done it if not for Ben - but he’d done many things he thought he would never do for his partner. Sipping at subpar wine over a pasta dish with people he hated was hardly the worst of them.

Ben was concerned that the meal was at a restaurant his family knew well, that they’d use the advantage to find some way of humiliating Hux. He’d mentioned the possibility more than once, that his mother would search for some in she could use to wheedle away at him, to send him so off-balance that he would say the wrong thing, would step left when he should have stepped right. That she would be there to catch him in it. But what these people didn’t know, Hux thought, studying the lights of the building across from his through the window, was that he’d been born into the delicate dance of social niceties - that he’d been reading people, sussing out exactly what was expected of him and then delivering on it, before most children had learned to read. He knew Han and Leia Solo’s kind without ever having met them - knew Leia’s impersonation high-end eating establishments and Han’s faux-leather jacket - and would meet them wit for wit if that was what it took to keep Ben from returning to the place he’d been when he had been under their care.

The next day, he sat Ben on the floor in front of him and brushed his hair out until it shone. Ben hadn’t bothered to care for it in the days prior any more than he’d bothered to change his clothes, and though it could be put through more than most without complaint, even Ben’s hair had its limits. It was so much longer now that the days when he’d barely left the bed had left it gnarled and knotted at the back of his head; he could have worked them out himself, Hux knew, but Ben needed the care. And more than that, Hux wanted to give it, so he did without apology - running the bristles through for so long that, when he was finished, Ben’s hair hung in soft waves, more voluminous than usual and silk-soft. His part done and with a kiss to Ben’s temple, he left the rest to his partner.

Hux himself dressed to the nines that night, though everything Ben had told him of _Al di la Trattoria_ told him it wasn’t required - which was entirely the point. A black suit coat that wouldn’t have been out of place at _Daniel,_ paired with shoes that were shined to perfection. A crisp white shirt, freshly starched. His favorite cufflinks. A bow tie - which perhaps might have been going too far, but Hux didn’t give a shit. He’d let the Solos see just what a pretentious bastard he could be, and they were free to like it or not. The patrons of _Al di la Trattoria_ , he told himself with a final glance at the mirror, were about to come face to face with the finest suit they’d ever seen.

Twenty minutes before Hux had asked their driver to meet them downstairs, Ben still hadn’t emerged from the bathroom, but as he waited on the edge of the bed, fingers tapping his knee in time, Hux knew one thing: whatever Ben chose to wear, he would walk into the restaurant with him proudly, arm in arm, and give Han and Leia Solo every _last_ ounce of respect that was owed to them.

\---

Ben was so nervous it was a lesser miracle he hadn’t thrown up yet, as they got out of the car in front of _Al di La Trattoria_ , and the only thing keeping him upright at the moment was Ethan’s gentle hold around his waist. Dressed in his dark blue three piece again - with a different shirt this time - Ben tried to focus on the small plus side that at least they wouldn’t be able to complain about his outfit. The suit, he knew without even knowing the exact price, cost more than any article of clothing either one of his parents had ever owned. Ethan had had obvious difficulties keeping his hands to himself after Ben had exited the bathroom so he could ask Ethan for help with his tie; his own hands shook too badly for him to do anything but hold onto Ethan and hope for the best.

He wasn’t nervous for his own sake, really; he already knew he was in for absolute hell. No, he was scared shitless about what Han and Leia might decide to do to Ethan. By all logic, they should want to get into his good graces, seeing that he was part of the social elite, but knowing how much they despised gay people, they might just decide to go for full on humiliation. As much as he had tried to prepare Ethan for all the shit they might try to say to him, he knew that they could always go further. They’d already called him Ben’s sugar daddy in public, already insinuated that he used Ben for sex and little else, that he was using his age and economic status to keep Ben around as some sort of glorified prostitute. God knew what they could decide to do to him in person. Leia loved it when she had an audience for her little shows, and it would only be worse if she had the benefit of home turf. Ethan hadn’t really seemed too concerned, and it only made Ben more nervous; he wasn’t sure Ethan fully understood the severity of the situation, and it scared him.

Glancing at his watch, he noticed with some small relief that it was 6:57pm. They had arrived with three minutes to spare - another potential angle of attack taken away from his parents. Leia and Han were already there, of course, and they got to their feet as Ben and Ethan approached the table. Leia had on that olive green blouse she usually wore when she wanted to appear…. in command, for lack of a better word. It fit her well, Ben had to give her that, and the strict yet feminine cut did give her a slightly more refined yet intimidating air. Her long hair was up in a French twist, and she was wearing those golden earrings Han had gotten her for whichever anniversary it was, and a necklace that could definitely pass for a matching piece - but that Ben knew wasn’t even real gold. She’d obviously changed the brand of her hair colour, he noted; there was a slightly more red note to it when the light hit it. She was, clearly, dressed to impress.

Han, on the other hand, looked pretty much like he always did when Leia dragged him out to dinner. Much to Leia’s perpetual anger, he refused to invest in a properly tailored suit - saying he didn’t want some fag groping about his inseam - and Ben knew that this jacket came from the men’s section of H&M. Han had attempted to hide this fact from Leia, and almost succeeded, too - until he’d spilled something on it at Ben’s birthday dinner shortly after, and she’d found out. H&M was not, apparently, good enough for Leia Solo. Not that that had ever stopped her from buying most of Ben’s clothes there - claiming there was no point in wasting money on his wardrobe anyway, since he couldn’t decide what weight to keep. Buying anything from a higher price range would just be an unnecessary expense, and it wasn’t as if it would look good on him anyway.

It was quickly hidden, but Ben saw the quick flash of annoyance play over Leia’s features before she donned her ‘pleasant socialite’ face, a sweet smile tugging at her mouth. He guessed she had hoped both for them to be late, and for there to be something obvious to poke at regarding their clothing - but he also knew this was only a small victory, and they were far from done yet. As they came up to the table, Han extended his hand to Ethan, and Ben was glad he’d warned his partner about Han’s tendency to apply as much pressure as he possibly could, to ‘see if the other guy would crack.’ It was so stupid, and Ben hated Han and his perpetual need to show how manly he was - or, more correctly, how not ‘womanly.’ But if Ethan thought it hurt, he at least didn’t show it; in fact, he didn’t so much as blink - the polite smile remaining as unaffected as it had been the entire time.

“Mr Solo,” he said, his voice even, measured. “Mrs Solo. A pleasure to meet you both, I assure you.”

“Mr Hux,” Leia greeted with more warmth than Ben knew she felt. “Please, call me Leia. I’m so glad you could join us.” She gave Ben a brief once over, then turned her full focus back on Ethan, as if Ben didn’t even exist. “I’m relieved to see you found some proper clothes for him to wear - even if he has gotten a bit chubbier than last time I saw him. You must have a good tailor, if they could get something to fit him.”

Ben had promised to try and eat something tonight. He had _promised_. But it looked like he was just going to have to disappoint Ethan - again - because there was no chance in hell that he could bear eating now. Leia would be watching every bite, would very likely comment on what he ordered, on how he ate, on whether or not he finished his plate. Ben had done this all before, and he knew that no matter what he did, there was no way this could play out where he wouldn’t lose - which was exactly what she wanted. Ethan wouldn’t ask, he never asked, but he would notice - especially if she commented on it - and it would come back to haunt him later. When they got home. Of course it would. Leia never settled for scoring points only when they were in the same room; her secret talent was to plant all sorts of poisonous little barbs in him and others, and then just sit back and wait for the long term damage to happen. To be able to get to Ben even in his own home? Yeah, that was an opportunity she’d never pass up!

“You’re quite mistaken” Ethan corrected, a tight smile on his face. “It’s my tailor who considers himself lucky to work with someone like Ben. Not everyone is as easy to dress as your son.” He pushed the sleeves of his suit jacket back from his wrists. “Thanisson may be talented, but it’s Ben who flatters the clothing - not the other way around.”

They took their seats, Leia and Ethan on one side, and Ben and Han on the other. It wasn’t how Ben or Ethan would have wanted it, but Han and Leia had already chosen their seats before they arrived, and now Ben was stuck facing Leia, unable to have any of the comfort he so desperately needed from Ethan. The entire dinner without being able to even hold his hand. It was planned. Of course it was planned. It wasn’t as if his parents would give the two gay men any opportunity to be disgusting in public. Ben couldn’t really believe he hadn’t planned ahead for this - after all, he knew how low they could sink, and how much they abhorred gay people. To let Ben and Ethan sit next to each other, so they could touch - in public - would be to accept their ‘unnatural proclivities,’ and they would rather die than ever do that.

Hux had never experienced a meal with a more tangible chill in the air, and he’d sat through more than a few business luncheons gone bad. Conversation was stilted, when there was any all, as the water glasses were filled, Ben’s gaze fixed on the salad plate in front of him, and when the waiter approached, Han ordered for the table, without consulting any of them - including Hux, who he’d never before met and whose taste in food he hadn’t the faintest clue of, as evidenced by his selection of a seafood dish Hux would never have chosen for himself. Something very Italian and swimming in red sauce, accompanied by a Pinot Grig that tasted of slightly chilled piss. 

Hux drank it with a smile. Whether this was some sort of test and Han was purposefully subjecting him to something he knew to be god-awful, or if he honestly thought the stuff was good, Hux couldn’t say - but he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing him flinch either way.

Across the table, Ben was twisting his napkin around his fingers, so tight the skin under his nails was beginning to go purple, Leia’s eyes tracing each motion of his hands as Han let out a laugh loud enough that the only other table in the restaurant turned to look at them. He was laughing at his own joke, one that had been made at Hux’ expense - the jab had been veiled, but thinly, and Hux didn’t for one moment believe that either Han or Leia thought him so stupid that he hadn’t picked up on it. When he joined in Han’s raucous laughter, chuckling over the rim of this wine glass, the man’s face went serious, and he narrowed his eyes in Hux’ direction, looking like he was preparing to say something else, but Hux beat him to the punch, setting the glass down with an audible _clink_ and spreading his own napkin over his lap with a flick of his wrist.

“You know, Han - you said I can call you Han, right?” Hux said, knowing full well that he hadn’t. “I can give you the number for my tailor if you’d like, since you look to be in the market for a good one.” He let his eyes travel down the poorly fitted line of the other man’s suit jacket, lingering pointedly where the shoulders pulled too tightly and strained the seams. “The name’s Thanisson, and he happens to run a rather noteworthy menswear shop when he’s not occupied at the sewing machine. Lots of suits. _Racks_ of them. Some of them are bound to fit.”

Han nearly choked on the bite of bread - rolled into a ball between his hands and soaked in olive oil - he’d just shoved in his mouth, sputtering as Leia did a rather impressive impersonation of a fish, and Hux smiled into his fist, eyes meeting Ben’s over the tabletop. It was more than he should have said; he was getting cheeky, pushing his luck, but when he caught Ben stifling a smile into his napkin as well, Hux couldn’t fault himself for his lack of discretion. It didn’t hurt that Han looked like to explode, his face the same shade of purple the tips of Ben’s fingers had been. Where before he’d been reclined in his chair with an arm thrown over the back, his legs spread out under the table so Hux was forced to keep his feet tucked well under him if he didn’t want them to get stomped on, now he straightened, leaning forward until he was practically out of his of seat. He planted both hands on the edge of the table.

If the display was supposed to be threatening, Hux thought, Han was about to be thoroughly disappointed, and he raised an eyebrow as he took another sip of his wine.

“You gotta be kidding me,” Han huffed, leaning well into Hux’ space now. Hux didn’t budge. “I’m not gonna let some-” Hux could very well imagine the end of that sentence. Something about letting _‘some queer’s’_ tailor grope the inside of his crotch - Han wasn’t proving himself to be very imaginative so far - but Leia cut him off with a hand on his elbow, pursing her lips into a little bow.

“Han,” she scolded, her voice hushed. She turned to Hux, a flush on her cheeks - it was the first time Hux could see anything of Ben in her, he thought, his stomach clenching. It didn’t look half as good on her as it did on his partner. “You’ll have to excuse my husband. He doesn’t always think before he speaks - Ben’s got that from him.” Hux watched as her fingers tightened on Han’s elbow, her engagement ring biting into his skin, even through the sleeve of his jacket.

“What he meant was, he appreciates the offer, but we already have our own tailor. We would’ve taken Ben to see him, if only he’d had some semblance of knowledge or interest in looking like a respectable person. But, unfortunately Ben’s always been sorely lacking any sense of style - I think he gets that from his grandfather. And I know you know what I mean, after all, you’re the one who has to look at him in those… I hesitate to call them clothes. No self-respecting adult man I know would want to be caught wearing anything of the sort, but Ben… well. Despite my best efforts, he’s apparently more than happy to make a fool of himself in public with his wardrobe choices. I mean, he even came to your office wearing it, after all. Imagine what people must’ve thought when he left Imperial Marketing, looking like _that_.” Her eyes widened as if she’d said something scandalous.

“Hmmm?” Hux cocked his head, looking at her quizzically, as if he had no idea what she talking about. “Oh, I suppose you’re speaking of the outfit Ben was wearing when you accosted him outside of Imperial on Thursday?” When Leia opened her mouth to object, Hux interrupted her by reaching for the basket of bread and tearing a piece from the loaf. He held it out to her in offering, then continued speaking when she took it, too flummoxed to do anything but stare at the bread in her hand. “You’re correct - Ben _was_ just leaving my office that afternoon. It’s unfortunate he was interrupted so shortly after, though. He had some important errands to run, and your unscheduled visit caused him to miss his favorite art supply store. The painting he’s been working on has been left sadly unattended since - a pity when there are a number of people who have been anticipating its completion.” Now Hux shoved his legs into Han’s space, kicking his foot up onto its heel and resting it against the rung of his chair.

“Your son’s quite the artist, you know,” he said, casually, anger bubbling just below the surface of his words. Had anyone else spoken of Ben the way these two did, Hux would already have laid them out, but for now, the face Han made as he scooted his chair out of Hux’ reach had to be enough. “No, I don’t suppose you do - do you? If you did, you’d know there’s no shame in dressing like one.”

“You really shouldn’t encourage him you know,” Leia said, giving him a patient smile. “Give him the nail of your pinky, and he’ll take your whole arm - he’s always been selfish like that, I’m afraid. And it’s nice of you to let him play around and make pretend, but it’s not like he’s any good. You should try and get him to do something a bit more useful. In my experience, ‘artist’ is just a fancier way of saying ‘too lazy to get a proper job.’ Wait and see, you’ll realize I’m right.”

Leia wasn’t even looking at Ethan when she said the last part - she was looking Ben right in the eye - and Ben bit the inside of his cheek until he could taste blood in an attempt to keep himself from crying. He couldn’t say why it got to him so badly - after all, this was _exactly_ what he had expected. It was a clear sign of how deep in shit he was that they were being so open with their contempt, and it was so painfully obvious that they had really hoped to get Ethan on their side as well. Of course they would do that! _Of course_ . They had done the same thing with every single person Ben had ever had any sort of close relationship to; isolating him, and then making everyone around him complicit in whatever scheme they had going on. He knew that most of them never even understood what they were doing; Leia was usually _far_ more subtle, but he guessed she was feeling vindictive now. After all, Ben had left the house, and then turned up four months later, living a good life. They had probably hoped he’d come crawling back, begging to be taken back in. The fact that Ben had made a life without them was unforgivable, and now they were going to punish him for it.

“I’m- I’m not-!” Ben began, but Leia cut him off.

“I’m speaking to Ethan now,” she said coolly. “Please don’t interrupt.” She threw a glance at his plate. “You will go easy on your food, won’t you? We wouldn’t want you to get fat again, would we? I’m sure Ethan won’t find you half as pretty if you start swelling up like some parade balloon.”

She might as well have hit him, because that was what it felt like. He had managed three bites, and they both knew that. But now he wouldn’t manage even one more - and he knew that she might just turn right around five minutes from now and accuse him of being ungrateful for not finishing his plate. He’d been playing this game for as long as he could remember - it was designed to make sure he always lost. Daring a quick glance over at Ethan, Ben could see in the set of his jaw that he was anything but happy with Leia’s comments - his eyes hard and cold, and his smile icy enough that Leia really should have picked up on it more than she did. Then Han’s hand landed on his back, and it took everything Ben had not to flinch.

“Sit like a normal person, would you,” Han said. “Or have you forgotten how to do that?”

“O-of course not!” Ben tried to protest, straightening up as much as he could in his seat.

“Good. I was afraid God knows how many months lounging about in another man’s bed like some floozy had made you forget.”

Though Han said it quietly - apparently not intending for Ethan or Leia to hear it - Ben still saw Ethan’s nostrils flaring across the table, his jaw tensing in anger. It was such a relief to see that he wasn’t buying Han and Leia’s shit, that he was on Ben’s side, but it was so hard to see him struggle with what Ben had learned to recognize as his fiercely protective side, and the knowledge that anything he said could be turned against Ben. They had his hands tied with an unspoken threat to Ben’s sanity. _It was so fucking unfair!_ He wished he could stand up for himself, to show them he wasn’t as weak as they thought, but he just couldn’t. His therapist had told him that during one of their appointments - that it took _years_ of healing before all of his learned responses had been dealt with enough for him to do that - but he still couldn’t help but feel so.... so… fucking _pathetic_.  

“I don’t-!”

“Save it. I don’t want to hear it.”

Shame and anger burned cold in the pit of Ben’s stomach, and all he wanted was to get out of there, to escape, to _hide for a thousand years and never go outside again_. If they stayed much longer, Ben knew he would have to work for months and months to recover enough to be back where he had been before he left Imperial the other day. He could feel himself shrinking, becoming quiet, brittle, defenseless - less a 25 year old man, and more that stupid little boy they always treated him like. It was evident, even now. While Han, Leia, and Ethan all drank wine, Ben had gotten _soda_. Not even Coke, but some wannabe Fanta type thing, that Ben didn’t even like. He would much rather have just had water, but they couldn’t let him have that level of dignity, he supposed. He just wanted to _leave_ , or he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from crying - he knew that. It was just a matter of time now.

“Leia.” At the dismissive way Han spoke to his son, Hux sat up in his chair, scooting it back suddenly so the legs scraped along the floor. Above the quiet instrumental music that played throughout the dining room - a piece Hux didn’t recognize - the sound was deafening, and again, the restaurant’s sole other diners turned to stare at the display. Hux paid them no mind. “You chose the restaurant, Ben told me?” Smiling was becoming more difficult, with the way the muscles of his cheek refused to unclench. Across from his partner, Leia nodded pleasantly, and Hux rolled his shoulders, preparing for what he was about to say. He knew what a low blow it was, knew he should have been above it, but despite his most valiant efforts, Ben’s eyes were brimming with tears, his voice was high and strained - and no one, Hux thought, was going to make his partner cry in his presence. Not even his parents. _Least_ of all his parents.

He returned Leia’s nod with one of his own, finishing off his glass of wine and motioning for another. The stuff might have been shit, but it was better than facing the Solos entirely sober.

“Ahhh, I see.” When his glass was refilled, he reached for it immediately, downing half of it in one swallow with hardly a wince. “I suppose it was difficult to secure reservations on such short notice. Fine dining can be _such_ a hassle in this city - so many restaurants, but so many people all clamoring to eat at them. It’s just a shame Olive Garden wasn’t able to seat us tonight. They have an especially picturesque location down in Jersey, I hear. I’m sure the two of you are familiar with it - that _is_ where you live, isn’t it?” He twirled the stem of the wineglass between his fingers.

“We do, yes,” Leia confirmed. “And that restaurant _is_ lovely, but, as enjoyable as that would be, we’ve long since learned that if you want to go to a proper, respectable restaurant, you can’t take Ben there. He’s just _not_ made for public places, especially not the ones where there is a certain level of social competence and manners to meet.” She looked at Ben, curiously, as if this was the first time she’d noticed his presence. “I’m actually rather surprised, you know. He’s not usually this well behaved. You must tell me what medications you have him on - I’m impressed by how… docile he is tonight. He’d usually be stirring up a scene by now, but I have to give it to you, Mr Hux, you do seem to have managed to bring him under control far better than his father and I ever did.”

Hux had never hit a woman before - the thought had never crossed his mind - but looking at Leia’s smudged lipstick, a dab of red on her chin from her first sip of wine that her husband should have pointed out to her before the salads were delivered, at the touch of grey at her temples that indicated her hair color was as much as lie as the rest of her, it was a near thing. The pulse of blood was loud in his ears, the restaurant gone silent save for the clatter of silverware from the other side of the room as he stood, the napkin from his lap fluttering to the floor.

“Forgive me, Ben,” he said with a nod to his partner, then placed both of his hands on the table, bending so he was mere inches from Han’s face. Across the table, he could hear Ben’s sharp intake of breath, and the second apology he sent his partner was a silent one, begging for his forgiveness for the damage he was about to do. He might have promised to hold his tongue, but Hux had met his limit. “Mr and Mrs Solo, I’m afraid I can’t allow you to continue speaking to my partner the way you have tonight. As it is, I’ve allowed it to go on for far too long already.” One of the tense muscles in his cheek jumped, his hand spasming where it clenched the table. “My mistake was believing there was something in your relation to Ben that prevented me from telling you exactly what you are.” He turned his attention to Leia, then back to Han, taking in the sum of them. “I now see the enormity of my error.”

“The two of you are, without a doubt, the worst excuses for parents I have _ever_ encountered,” he spat, giving a dismissive shake of his head at what he found. “And you can rest assured that comes as a very _high_ honor.” The words were like venom, Hux’ nose practically touching Han’s face now, close enough the oregano that had been sprinkled in the olive oil was warm on his breath as Han’s nostrils flared. “My own father previously held the title, great prick that he is. Of course, it’s been years since I’ve seen him, so there has been time for the memory to fade.” When Han raised up to meet him, Hux’ lips twitched up into the facsimile of a smile. It was as if, he thought, in saying the words to Ben’s parents, he was saying them to his own father as well. “With any luck, it’s only a matter of time until the same thing happens with you.”

A moment of tense silence followed during which neither Han nor Hux was willing to break the staring match they’d entered, and then Han was lunging across the table, so quickly he would have broken Hux’ nose had he not pulled back in time. Hux was breathing harshly, suddenly on his feet as well - he didn’t remember getting up, but his chair teetered precariously behind him, his hip smarting where he’d caught the edge of it when he’d leapt out of his seat.

“Why, you son of a-” Han looked like he was about to deck him, but with the kiss of anger thrilling in his veins, Hux found didn’t care. He’d been hit before, by better men than Han Solo. A few bruises were a small price to pay, and he’d give as good as he got by the time Han was done with him. Before Han could finish calling him whatever unimaginative insult was about to leave his lips, Hux cut him off by grabbing the collar of his shirt and hauling him bodily over the spread of their dinner. Next to him, he distantly registered the sound of a plate shattering when it met the floor as the tablecloth was yanked to the side.

Looking back, Hux couldn’t have said what would have happened had Ben’s hand not landed on his. All he knew was that the one that wasn’t occupied holding Han in the air was cocked back, ready to swing - that the crack of his fist on Han’s skull would have felt more satisfying than almost anything he’d ever experienced. That the sound of it would have been even better. But then the soft pads of Ben’s fingers were closing over his fist, the touch hesitant as Hux focused in on the feel of familiar callouses, evidence of the places Ben rested his paintbrush when he was working.

By now, Hux knew them from memory, and when he tore his eyes away from Han’s face, Ben was watching him.

“Ethan, no,” he pleaded. There wasn’t much that could have gotten through to him in that moment, but the note of desperation in Ben’s voice did it. Hux froze, Han’s feet scrabbling for purchase on the floor as Hux’ hand twisted in the fabric of his jacket.

With Ben’s hand on his, time slowed, the muted colors of the murals on the restaurant’s walls fading into rustic Italian nothing. No one had ever looked as pathetic as Han did to him then: just a man in an ill-fitting suit, well past his prime, the skin of his face sagging with age. He might have been handsome once - might even have been handsome now, if not for the set of his features - but when Hux looked at him, all he saw was someone whose legacy was one of failure, reflected back in same amber eyes as his son. And that, Hux knew, was something Han had chosen for himself and would have to live with for himself as well.

“I won’t,” he decided then, letting going of Han’s collar to toss him aside, and Leia let out a shriek of indignation as she rushed to his side, Han rubbing at his windpipe in between gasps for breath. The waiter watched from the wide, swinging door of the kitchen - if he didn’t throw them out, he would be on the line with the police soon enough. Hux couldn’t have cared less. “But know it’s only because your son asked me to. You have him to thank for your unbroken nose. You’re not worth it - neither of you are.” The look he gave Han was one of disdain as he brushed the wrinkles from the the sleeves of his jacket and straightened his bowtie.

He would have left then, Ben in tow, the broken plate the only evidence of their altercation, had Ben’s parents minded their own damn business - but Han’s pride wouldn’t allow that.

“Ethan Hux.” Han’s fingers were still caressing his throat when he broke into a laugh, his voice raw and his collar rumpled. “Fucking coward.” He squinted his eyes at Hux, bending so he was leaned on the back of his chair, arms crossed, Leia’s hands fluttering about his shoulder. “Look at you; too fucking scared to do anything but threaten. Ain’t a chance in hell you’d actually hit me, and we all know it.” The smile that pulled at his face turned Hux’ stomach, the few bites of oyster he’d eaten sitting heavily. “You ain’t man enough, are you? You’re just another fucking _queer_.”

A lifetime of his father’s dismissive words, of the times he had to lie about who and what he was, looking at boys in the locker room and praying his father wouldn’t find out, wouldn’t know as soon as he looked at him - of the moments he’d seen Ben shrink from his affection even when there was no one to see - bubbled up under skin, stretching it tight and uncomfortable, ill-fitting, and it was as if Hux was outside of himself when he picked up his wineglass, still half-full, and flung the contents in Han’s face.

If before the restaurant had been quiet, now it was tomb still. The Pinot Grig dripped down Han’s face in rivulets, pale yellow and piss-warm, and Hux could tell by the way he blinked that it stung his eyes as it soaked into the collar of his shirt. He sputtered and spit, swearing, his hair dripping with the stuff - for the moment, at least, stunned into wordlessness.

It was, Hux thought, one of the most satisfying sights he’d seen in some time.

“Have you lost your goddamned mind?” When finally he found his voice, Han looked at him with a mixture of disbelief and spite, dragging his hand over his mouth and flinging away wine.

Hux let out a short bark of laughter. “No, Mr Solo,” he said then, coolly - his face going deadly serious. “That’s where you’re right: I _am_ another fucking queer. But I’m also Ethan Hux, and if you think I’m above throwing wine in your face, you don’t want to find out what depths I’m willing to sink to if I catch either you or your _lovely_ wife anywhere near my partner again. You know us _queers_ \- why, we hardly have any scruples at all. There’s no telling what we what we might do.” He let the vagueness of the threat do the speaking for him.

“C’mon, love,” and his voice softened as he moved to the other side of the table, wrapping an arm around Ben’s shoulders and encouraging him to stand. If either Han or Leia had any reaction at all to what he’d said, Hux didn’t know about it - he didn’t spare them another glance as he pulled Ben to him, turning his face so he wouldn’t have to look at his parents either. “I think it’s time we got the hell out of here.” But before they did, Hux turned back long enough to deposit five one hundred dollar bills on the table, spread out over the disrupted breadbasket. This time, he addressed the waiter, still frozen in the doorway, tray clasped in his hands, when he spoke.

“This should be enough to cover not only our meal, but the meal of the table to the right of us - including the dessert they haven’t ordered yet. It’s the least I can do to express my regret for ruining their dinner - but then, I imagine these two have the unfortunate habit of doing that wherever they go.”

The smile he gave as a parting gift cut his lips like a knife.

\---

Out on the sidewalk, the early spring evening was chilled, but Hux’ cheeks still burned as he herded Ben into the waiting town car, pulled up directly outside the doors. He hadn’t let go of his partner since they’d left the table - wasn’t sure he ever would again - which made maneuvering for his phone difficult. Still, the driver had barely closed the car door behind them when he began dialing it one-handed, the line on speaker so Mitaka’s voice flooded the backseat when he answered.

“Mitaka,” he said, cutting off his assistant’s greeting and tucking Ben farther into his shoulder. “Han and Leia Solo - do we know them?”

“I- I don’t know them personally,” the voice on the other end of line stuttered. His assistant sounded like he might have been sleeping. “But we’ve - ah, we’ve worked with them, for small accounting projects in the past-”

“Well, not anymore.” Hux didn’t need to hear another word, and when he heard Ben’s sharp intake of breath in the dark of the car, he stopped to press a kiss to his temple. “We don’t work with them - no one in the industry works with them. Hell, if I can swing it, no one in New York works with them.” He kissed Ben again, in the same spot, not caring if Mitaka heard. “And not only that. I won’t have them within a thousand feet of Imperial. I want the whole damn firm to know it; every security guard we have is to recognize Han and Leia Solo’s faces on sight. Let them see just how low Ethan Hux can sink - I’ll have them arrested if they so much as set foot on the premises.”

Whether Hux truly had that authority, he didn’t know, but Mitaka didn’t argue - and with the weight of his partner curled into his side, Hux vowed he’d have it, if he didn’t already, before the next week was out. When it came to Ben, he knew now without question, there was nothing he couldn’t, nothing he _wouldn’t,_ do.

It only took long enough for them to reach the apartment for Hux to learn just how few phone calls it took to begin setting a restraining order in place.

\---

If Ben was to be completely honest with himself, there had been a large part of him that had fully expected Ethan to walk out on him either during or after the dinner. A part of him that had counted on Ethan telling him that there was no way he would continue to be with Ben now that he knew how fucked up he was - how fucked up his background was - and that Ben would be too much of a hassle to keep around. It was illogical, and he knew it, but people had left him for less than that, so he knew better than to take anything for granted.

What he wished he had been trusting enough to expect however, turned out to be the very thing that happened. Ben had still been reeling a bit as they’d gotten in the car, trying to wrap his head around Ethan throwing his wine in Han’s face. Almost _punching_ him in the face, even. Ethan had done that. For Ben. Ethan had almost gotten himself arrested for assault, _to protect Ben_. Not only that; when they were safely in the car, Ethan had called at least half a dozen people, and made them make sure that Han and Leia would never, ever, get near Ben again for as long as they lived. He even made sure they wouldn’t get to do any business in New York ever again. Not only that, but he’d actually stayed by Ben’s side through that whole three day crisis - through the frantic crying, the panic, the refusal to eat, the apathy, the pushing him away and telling him to leave, then begging him not to - and as they had left for dinner, Ben still hadn’t quite grasped it. He actually hadn’t understood until _this_ moment what Ethan’s influence could actually do, and he sure as hell hadn’t realized until this same moment that Ethan was there to _stay_. Ethan wasn’t going anywhere without Ben.

All the little puzzle pieces finally clicked together, and about a hundred different thoughts and emotions ran through Ben all at once. _Ethan was here to stay_. Had stayed with Ben through three days of him displaying all his worst sides, had helped Ben get rid of the two people who had hurt him the most in life, without even blinking. _Finally_ , Ben was certain of Ethan’s commitment. _Finally_ , he could let go of the last bit of doubt. Sure, there would be bad days still; days when Ben would question his love, his motives, his words - _there would always be those days_ \- but now he had proof, actual rock solid proof, that Ethan was willing to take any measure to ensure his safety. Because he _loved_ Ben. Because he wanted to protect Ben. Because Ben’s happiness was important enough to him that he would willingly risk assault charges.

All the way home, Ben mulled it over in his head, and the swirls of emotions began solidifying into something hot, something molten and thick in his veins and belly, something urgent, _persistent_ , and as the elevator doors closed behind them, Ben had made a decision. He was ready for this to happen. He wanted it. More importantly, he _needed_ it. He needed to wake up tomorrow, tired, with that wonderful, sweet soreness in his muscles. Needed to wake up tomorrow and know that this man, whom he loved more than he knew how to express, knew how much Ben trusted and wanted him. He wanted to… to _belong_. Fully. To give himself over, give everything he was, such as it was, and know Ethan would treasure him. Know that when tomorrow came, Ethan would still be there with him, with his ridiculous bedhead, and his messy beard, and his tight embraces and sweet kisses and murmurs about how badly he needed some coffee, before attempting to wheedle Ben into taking a shower with him.

Ben needed it, he realized, like he needed air to breathe.

Going for it was the easiest thing he had ever done.

Ethan had let go of him only so he could type in the code to take them up to the penthouse, and when he held his hand out for Ben to take, Ben grabbed it and pulled Ethan with him so that Ben ended up with his back to the elevator wall - Ethan’s hands on either side of his head in an attempt to steady himself. He opened his mouth to say something, but Ben didn’t give him the chance; he grabbed Ethan’s collar and crushed their lips together. It didn’t take long for Ethan to assume control of the kiss, and Ben - feeling oddly thrilled to be pressed up against a wall and kissed senseless in such a public place - moved his hands from Ethan’s collar to his hair, burying his fingers in it and making sure to keep them locked together. Ethan’s hands settled on his ass and lower back, pressing them close together as he nudged his thigh in between Ben’s legs to add even more friction, and Ben could do little else but groan into the kiss. He was getting hard very fast, and a few months ago that might have made him embarrassed, but not anymore. Not when he could feel Ethan’s arousal pressing right back against him, hear those low, possessive growls that sometimes escaped him when the angle of the kiss was especially good for him. The air was crackling with the sense of urgency - the need had been building in them both though they hadn’t really talked about it, and it was becoming clear that the hand jobs and blowjobs that they’d shared - amazing as they were - were not enough to keep them sated.

Ethan’s hands were everywhere, and Ben thought his own might be too, but it was really difficult to think at the moment - the whole world had shrunk down to Ethan; Ethan’s lips, hands, warmth, hips moving restlessly against his. Eventually, Ethan pulled back for air, breathing heavily - looking absolutely disheveled, something feral lurking behind the green of his irises.

“Wha- What’s going on here? What is all of this?” he panted out, looking pleased and curious and impatient and hungry, all at once.

Ben had to take a few deep breaths of his own before he could answer, a very happy smile breaking out across his face - he probably looked absolutely goofy, but he didn’t care.

“I-” He had to swallow and try again. “I want you. I want this. I- I want to… I want you to...” He could feel himself blushing, hiding his face against Ethan’s chest to brace himself before trying again. “I want you to fuck me.”

He could scarcely believe he’d actually said that out loud, but there was no taking it back now - and besides, he meant it.

“Are you - are you… you’re sure?” Ethan grasped for words. “You’re not just saying this because you know what looking at you like this is doing to me right now?”

“I mean it! Please. I _want_ this. I want _you_.”

… And then Ethan was hoisting him up against the wall, using his own body to keep him there as he crushed their lips together once more. Ben hurried to wrap his legs around his hips, putting his arms around Ethan’s neck - clinging on with everything he had, relishing the friction between their bodies, daring himself to not hold back on any sounds he might make. If it had felt urgent before, now it was brimming with a sense of need that was damn near maddening in its ferocity, and they threw themselves into it as if they would die if they let go.

Hux had never felt stronger than when he held Ben in his arms - sure, the wall of the elevator might have been supporting some of his weight, but it was Hux who kept him aloft, Hux who sustained him, all one-hundred and not enough pounds of him squirming and writhing in Hux’ hold. He traced his nose up the side of Ben’s face, inhaling the scent of his partner - cool, crisp wind and something deep and earthy, like dirt, rich in minerals but _cleaner._ Better. Like paint and falling leaves and lukewarm tea and charcoal pens and the crayons he sharpened in the back of their box when he was a schoolboy. There was also the faintest hint of vinegar, from the few bites of salad he’d eaten - so sharp Hux’ mouth _watered_ with the desire to consume him whole. To lick the sweat from his skin and wash it down with his tears.

“You. Are. _Delicious_ ,” he growled, not giving a damn for how greedy he sounded, how long deprived, nor for the security camera he knew was installed in the upper right corner, watching them. Ben didn’t know it was there, and Hux thanked the lucky star he’d been born under for small favors. “Dinner might have been cut short, but if it’s alright with you, I think I’d prefer to get my fill right here. Right now. Tonight.” He dug his fingers into Ben’s ass, punctuating his words with a light pinch to the back of his thigh.

Ben’s laugh turned into a gasp of pleasure-surprise, the muscles of his legs trembling with the effort of keeping themselves locked around Hux’ middle, as Hux spun them so that Ben’s back slammed into the elevator doors, jolting them both, the bones in Hux’ shoulders rattling, Hux’ laughter taking up where his had left off.

“Well, not right here, but just as soon as-” he cut himself off with a bite to Ben’s collarbone, one that would bruise. “Just as soon as this damned elevator opens its damned doors.” His voice was so feral he sounded half an animal, his nose pressed into the space where the top two buttons of Ben’s shirt had popped open. He’d waited so many days and months for permission - to know that when Ben said he wanted him, _this_ is what he meant, without reservation - that he could have taken him right there in the elevator, but he was saved by the doors sliding open, spilling the two of them out into the hallway, Ben still in his arms, winding himself tighter around Hux’ waist when he stumbled under the weight.

A few staggering steps to the door of his apartment, and Hux’ hand slapped up against the security panel, anchoring them there as he worked Ben’s shirt father open with the bridge of his nose.

“Tell me now if you want me to stop.” He panted the words into Ben’s skin, never more glad to have the floor to himself as he _inhaled_ him.

“If you stop, I’ll never forgive you,” Ben whispered back, voice hushed, frantic, rough. “I need- Fuck, _Ethan, please_. I need this.”

“Then it’s a good thing I have no intention of stopping.” If Ben needed this, Hux did too. He’d been as patient as a man could be - careful, cautious, where Ben was concerned - but there were some desires that couldn’t been quelled by Ben’s hand or his mouth, for as good as he was with them. “I couldn’t stand to have you displeased with me.” He refused to lift his face from where it was buried in Ben’s neck, working the blood to the surface there as he drew his skin in between his teeth, the chain of Ben’s dogtags - hidden under his shirt until Hux had ripped it open - biting into his cheek, a sweet, _sweet_ brand. His hand was trembling so badly he got the access code wrong the first time he attempted to enter it, though he’d done it a thousand times before by feel alone.

The security panel beeped menacingly at the manhandling as, one hand still cradling Ben’s ass, he entered the code a second time - the _right_ one this time. Inside the apartment, it was pitch dark. They hadn’t turned the lights on before leaving for dinner, and Hux groped for the switch one-handed, cursing into Ben’s collarbone as his knee knocked up against the wall, hard enough a fern that had been disguised in the darkness wobbled and threatened to overturn from its table, sending Millicent scattering from her perch underneath it, yowling in displeasure.

Their entrance to the apartment could not have been less smooth if Hux had tried.

It should have ruined the mood when Ben started laughing at him, breathless and exuberant, but Hux had never minded looking stupid for Ben. Instead, the sound of his partner’s joy was a drug, an aphrodisiac, and he abandoned his search for the lightswitch when Ben lowered his head to nip at the lobe of his ear, the bite softened by his lips drawn over his teeth. The sudden rush of blood from his head left Hux dizzy and overheated, his skin prickling with want, Ben’s proximity electric. Outside of the kitchen, where the bulb overtop the sink had been left illuminated, there was enough light to see by and only that, the lights of New York sparkling like a hundred thousand stars beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of their living room, the skin of Ben’s chest taking on an ethereal white-blue glow in the dusk of the penthouse.

It wasn’t so far to their bedroom - only a few steps - and Hux had waited what felt like a lifetime and a half. He’d once stroked himself off in the velvet skin between Ben’s thighs, but they’d never gone farther than that. Another moment spread out between them wouldn’t have been the death of him. A man couldn’t die from desire left unsatiated, he knew - had that been possible, he would have already been a dead man walking six times over - but Hux had had enough of patience and prudence. Fuck what was sensible, he thought, a possessive sound crawling up from his throat, because he was going to fuck _Ben_ tonight - was going to have him, help himself to what slept just across the bed from him each night. He would never again wonder how it would be, because now he would _know._ Would know how Ben looked when Hux pushed into him, the sounds he would make and the way his his chest would heave and the exact angle his own hips would take to make it just right.

“Clumsy, are we?” Ben chuffed into his ear, a rebuke, too teasing to be taken seriously, and the ragged quality to his voice sent any blood that hadn’t already to pool in Hux’ groin, the thought of what lay beyond the rest of the buttons of Ben’s shirt so enticing that he hooked his finger under the next one and popped that off too, letting it fly to land somewhere in the room, before dropping him down on the sofa with a quiet _“oomph.”_

They could always buy another shirt.

“Yes, silly me,” Hux agreed, the words husky, his voice so deep he hardly recognized it as his own, and he let himself drop down on top of Ben, the entire sofa rocking with his added weight, his knees pressed into the cushions as his arms bracketed either side of Ben’s head. He lowered himself enough that his nose pressed into Ben’s closed eye, inhaling noisily. “So clumsy we’ve ended up here on the sofa - and would you look at that?” A hand snaked inside Ben’s shirt to tease at his ribs, up to the slight definition building in the muscles of his chest. “I’ve torn off a few of your buttons. What a shame. I’m _incorrigible,_ truly.” Ben shuddered at way his tongue rolled across the word, Hux’ mouth all but closing over his ear when he whispered:

“You’ll have to allow me to make it up to you.”

There was a lifetime of things to make up to Ben, Hux thought, though this wasn’t one of them, and he forced himself to stop touching long enough to shuck off his suit jacket, tossing it behind the sofa, then began the infuriating work of his cufflinks, Ben’s urgent fingers offering help, fluttering at Hux’ wrists. By the time he rolled his shoulders out of his sleeves, he was ready to tear the buttons off his own shirt, the fine hairs of his arms all on end with the static between he and Ben.

Hux raised himself up on his forearms - finally, _blessedly,_ shirtless - his face hovering above Ben’s as they locked eyes, Ben’s pupils so wide and black they nearly overtook the brown of his irses. Ben was still wearing far too many clothes; only his shirt and vest had been disturbed and even they were still half on, one of his pock-marked shoulders exposed where Hux had torn the sleeve down in his search of better access to his collarbone. With a low growl from somewhere deep in his belly, Hux rocked back on his knees to press his face into the cotton over Ben’s stomach, nuzzling him, the spot below his mouth becoming damp with the heat from his breath. When it became so sodden that it stuck to his face, making it difficult to breath, he rocked forward again, capturing Ben’s mouth this time, their teeth knocking together as Ben made a soft, sweet noise into the kiss.

He nipped at Hux’ lower lip when he pulled away, and Hux _tsked,_ laying his finger over Ben’s mouth, still open and searching.

“Ah-ah,” Hux breathed, chuckling at the feel of a flick of Ben’s tongue against his second knuckle. “Wait right here - don’t move a muscle.” As he lifted himself off the sofa, the knee that brushed Ben’s crotch deliberate, there was no doubt in his mind that his partner would obey.

Ben was caught off guard when Ethan suddenly decided to leave him there, on the sofa, still almost completely dressed. They’d had an amazing momentum going there, the heat becoming something strong enough that it threatened to consume them both, and then… Ethan left? It made no sense, and Ben had to fight hard to not let his anxiety step in and take over - there was still a little bit of the mood left, and he was determined to rekindle it. He was finally getting Ethan to ravish him, and he would be damned if he messed that up! It was just weird that he’d suddenly just leave the living room, it didn’t make any se- Oh. _Oh_. Things clicked together in his mind. Some weeks ago, Ethan had made a very secret errand down to Walgreen’s. He hadn’t said what he bought, and Ben hadn’t really cared at the time - he figured it was probably more paracetamol or something, as Ethan had a tendency to hoard those things in case of emergency. But now he realized what it had to be. They were on the couch - as they always seemed to be when they did something important - but if they were going to do this, they’d need some things. Namely lubricant - and condoms, as they hadn’t quite gotten around to getting themselves tested yet - and the thought that Ethan had prepared for this, had made sure they’d be good to go when it came down to it, that he had wanted this enough to go out and buy them, despite his hatred for stores like that was really kinda… _hot_. Ethan wanted this; really, _really_ wanted this. Wanted Ben. Was going to come back with the stuff that would help _make it happen_.

His erection had started to wilt a bit from his nervousness, but that brought it right back, and Ben decided to be a bit brave. Sure, Ethan had said ‘don’t move a muscle,’ but they’d wasted a lot of time already, and he figured that hurrying things along a bit wouldn’t hurt. Kicking his shoes and socks off, he removed his shirt and vest - throwing them in some random direction, and not caring where they landed - before unfastening the top button of his slacks, and making himself comfortable on the couch. No point in actively trying to look seductive; it had never been a talent of his, and he had a feeling Ethan would happily manhandle him into a good position for both of them once he got back anyway. A part of his mind was already working through the possibilities for Ethan’s chosen place for the occasion paired with Ben’s own favourite positions, and what could be good for Ethan. Another part was shamelessly relishing the slightly cool air, that made goosebumps rise all over him, causing the bite-marks to pull a bit, and the little spots of left behind saliva on his skin to feel like tiny icy patches. The combination sent his blood right back into a molten state, red-hot, and it was once again pooling in his lower belly and groin.

“And here I thought you’d follow directions well.” Hux was already pawing at the fly of his slacks one-handed when he returned to the sofa, his voice muffled as he tore the foil package he’d brought back with him open with his teeth. Ben flushed at the admonishment, his now bare chest going strawberry, and with a roguish grin on his face, Hux pushed aside the collection of books on the coffee table to drop the tube tucked under his arm there, spitting out foil. “We’re going to have to work on that, but don’t worry.” Again, a knee on either side of Ben’s hips, the sofa just wide enough to fit them both, so he could wind an arm around Ben’s neck, pull him up into another open-mouthed kiss, wet and hungry.

“We’ve got time.” And they did - the rest of their lives to explore each other’s bodies, Hux mouthing over Ben’s face, reading the line of his profile with his lips. “I’m certain you’ll figure it out eventually.”

Hux breathed the words into the coal-heated skin of Ben’s cheek, their noses notching together as he slipped a hand inside of his boxers, giving himself an experimental stroke. He was already almost at full attention, and Ben’s chest hitched underneath him, his neck arching at the slightest sign of interest from Hux’ cock. It always seemed to surprise him, that Hux wanted him the way he did, though it had long stopped being a surprise to Hux. Ben might not have known what to do to make himself desirable - the angles to strike, the words to say, the ways to bend his body that flattered him best - but he didn’t need to. What Hux wanted about Ben wasn’t something that only appeared in the right light, or when the mood struck and the stars aligned, or when poetry turned the impression of the everyday. It was, he thought, taking Ben’s hand and guiding it inside his boxers as well, so he could _feel_ just how badly Hux wanted him, how achingly hard he was already, something inherent and indefinable.

Something that became more urgent when he wore Hux’ favorite pair of skinny jeans, yes, but that had surrounded Ben long before Hux had met him. Perhaps that was why he ached for Ben so badly now - he’d been wanting him since before he had known _what_ he was wanting, since before he had known Ben at all - and Hux wrapped Ben’s hand in his own, placing them both around his cock.

“Don’t move too much-” He groaned into Ben’s hair, shifting minutely. “Or it’ll all be over before the main attraction, so to speak.” When Ben’s hold tightened a fraction, Hux had to bite his lip to stifle a whimper, and he pulled Ben’s hand back sharply to tangle their fingers together - safely outside of his boxers. “This time, I’m really going to need you to do as I say.”

“I make no promises,” Ben grinned mischievously, reclaiming his hand, and walking his fingers down from Ethan’s collarbone towards his hip - playing with the waistband of his boxers. “I could, uhm, you know, take the edge off a bit first?” He bit his lip, a blush rising across his cheeks much against his will. “I’m gonna, uhm… I usually need a bit more, uhm, prepping than most guys. So, uhm, you’ve got plenty of time to recover.”

Ethan groaned again, kissing him deeply.

“What have you done with that sweet, obedient boy I brought home?” he murmured, mesmerized, against Ben’s lips when they parted. “He would never have been so cruel to me.” Their foreheads tipped together, and Ethan fanned his fingers out along Ben’s ribcage, a light pressure. “I’d love that, darling. But only if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Ben promised, nipping at his lip. “I want to. I don’t want to… to just hurry through this. I want to make it last.”

“Then you’re going to have to tell me what you want. How you want me to touch you.” Ethan lowered his voice until Ben more felt than heard the reverberations of his words on his skin. “The ways I can best get you _off._ ” The end of the sentence was little more than a purr. “You’re so good for me, sweet - so, so good. It’s time to let me be good for you.”

Ben felt the giddiness bloom in his chest, and he pulled Ethan in for another deep kiss - his hands moving down to his slacks to indicate he wanted them off. Ethan was more than happy to oblige, and for a while everything was a flurry of heated kisses, shaky limbs and awkward movements as they all but tore their remaining clothing off. This was the second time Ben had been completely naked in front of Ethan - not counting that amazing time when, safely tucked under their covers, Ethan had held him close, stroking him off while getting himself off between Ben’s thighs - but this was the time that would count. Because now he was spread out on the couch, his pale skin near glowing in the dim light, his dick rock hard and curving up over his belly - every last inch of him on display, and Ethan looked as if he had seen salvation. The hunger in his eyes would have been frightening on anyone else, but all Ben could feel now was pride, joy, excitement, and more raw hunger than he could remember ever having felt. Because Ethan was hovering above him, all his wiry muscles and freckled skin bare and burning against Ben’s. He’d been so impossibly hard in Ben’s hand, and it was obvious now too, how turned on he was - pearly liquid rapidly leaking from the head of his cock.

Ben knew what he wanted to do, and - getting more comfortable on his back - nudged Ethan forward until he was straddling Ben’s chest, resting his hands on the armrest for support, as Ben indulged himself in stroking his thighs, ass and hips. He was so fucking _gorgeous_ , and Ben could hardly believe how lucky he was to have him here, like this - looking like he was about two breaths away from coming, just from the sight of Ben under him. As Ben gently took his cock in hand, guiding him down towards his mouth with a hand on his hip, Ethan practically stopped breathing - his eyes locked on Ben, as if he would die if he looked away.

“D-darling,” he managed, “are you sure this is- _oh_.”

Ben didn’t let him finish that sentence, swirling his tongue around the head, loving the little jump it did, savouring the taste of him. Not giving Ethan any chance to recover from that, Ben took a deep breath, and took him in as far as he could go - which was pretty far, and Ben felt proud of his skills as Ethan let out a loud groan, his eyes falling shut as the sensations hit him. As much as Ben enjoyed doing this, and as much as he knew Ethan loved when he did this, he really wanted to get to the main attraction too, and so he picked up a determined pace - pulling all kinds of amazing sounds and muttered profanities from his partner. He reached up, and guided one of Ethan’s hands into his hair, and once he felt his hand settle on the back of his head to help keep him at just the right angle he reached down to stroke himself. It didn’t last very long for either of them, and soon he could feel the little twitches in Ethan’s hips, the jumping of his muscles, taste the saltiness on his tongue that told him his partner was getting very close to the edge.

“B-Ben,” Ethan hissed out. “Ben, love, you’re going to have to- I can’t. I’m about to- _ah._ ”

Ben took him deeper, and it didn’t take more than a second or two until Ethan’s climax seized him - the hand in Ben’s hair gripping it tightly as he swallowed it all down, working him through the aftershocks. He hadn’t done that the other times he’d given Ethan a blowjob, and he could only hope his partner wasn’t averse to it, because Ben had been trying to build the courage to do this since he’d first started thinking about offering it. It took only a couple more strokes before he was coming too, Ethan watching him with a look of utter adoration as his body tensed, and he let out a gasp as he felt himself tip over the edge, his body arching off of the sofa as every muscle in him seized with the force of it.

“You,” Ethan panted as he rearranged himself to lie between Ben’s legs - completely ignoring the stickiness on Ben’s belly, “are the most incredible boy - _man_ \- I’ve ever met.” He kissed him, sinking into the taste of himself in Ben’s mouth, his hands roaming every inch of skin they could reach, and Ben wrapped his arms around his chest, scraping his nails across his back as he had learned that Ethan thoroughly enjoyed. “We’re not finished yet. If you’re ready for more, that is.” Ethan’s green eyes searched Ben’s for confirmation, permission, and Ben loved him even more for it.

“Yeah,” Ben confirmed, thrilled at the hoarseness of his own voice. “Please. I want it - I’m ready.”

Ethan shook his head. “You’ve gone and made it impossible for me to deny you anything, you know.” His voice cracked as he grabbed for the lube and condom - handing the latter to Ben to hold onto, and popping the bottle of lube to squeeze a generous portion into his palm, where he began warming it. “Forget what you’ve done with the boy I brought home - what have you done with me? And more importantly - whatever am I going to do with you?”

Ethan was so gentle with him - gentle but still firm - and Ben soon found his blood reaching boiling point again, his cock hardening rapidly from the thorough ministrations. But it felt so damn _good_ he didn’t know what the hell to do with himself, as he had Ethan’s mouth doing sinful things to his neck and chest, and his beautiful, amazing, slender, _wicked_ fingers working him open, slowly, taking his time - as if he could do this all night long, as if searching out and then finding Ben’s prostate was his new favourite pastime. In between his kisses, licks, and bites, he showered him in praise, in declarations of love, in heated confessions of all the things having Ben like this made him feel and want. It was _beautiful_ and _filthy_ and too much and not enough, and all Ben could do was dig his nails into Ethan’s shoulders, try to keep his legs spread as much as he could, and maybe also remember how to breathe. While he’d never been very loud in bed, he had a tendency to swear _a lot_ , and everytime he did it seemed to have the most profound effect on Ethan. He got greedier, more ardent, those skilled fingers bringing the most delicious torture in their wake as they would press against his prostate, then disappear, only to gently caress it again, until Ben was shaking and whimpering in desperation.

Then, finally, Ethan gave a final teasing swirl of his tongue over Ben’s now hypersensitive nipples, and sat back. That feral look was back in his eyes, and as Ben looked down, he could see that he was rock hard again, his chest heaving with ragged breaths, and a smile that was nothing short of wicked pulled at his mouth. He carefully pulled his fingers out, and Ben whimpered at the loss.

“Hush now, love,” Ethan soothed. “I promised you we’d get to the good part, didn’t I?” He hooked a finger in Ben’s direction, still glistening with the lube he’d used to work him open, that had left him stretched and ready. “If you’ll just hand me that condom? I’d rather not give up this view.” He hurried to comply, and condom in hand, Ethan’s eyes traveled down from Ben’s sternum to the dip below his hipbones to the dark place between his legs where his cock strained for release. His gaze lingered there, lascivious, unapologetic, as he made a show of putting it on, rolling it down over the head of his dick with a slowness that hurt just to watch, he was so damned hard.

“There now, all just for you.” The hand that closed around Ben’s hip was as slick as the inside of him. “Tell me: do you like what you see?”

“Fuck, yes,” Ben managed, not quite a whimper, not quite a hiss, but something raw and wanting and desperate in between. “You’re _so_ gorgeous, I- I can’t…. Ethan, please. I want you.”

“Then you’ll have me. Just let me-” Ethan reached for one of the cushions and gently helped Ben lift his hips a bit so he could place it under him. “There.”

He took another moment to admire Ben’s body, one slick hand caressing his thigh before hooking it over his shoulder and lining himself up. Ben couldn’t take his eyes off Ethan’s face as he gently pushed inside, the stretching sensation followed by a sense of fullness, of connection, that had Ben seeing stars. Ethan’s face had gone from concentrated to slack-jawed bliss as the head of his cock had pushed past the ring of puckered skin, and a dreamy smile appeared on his lips as he worked himself deeper in small, slow, careful thrusts. Ben could do little else but gasp and whimper, his fingers digging into the fabric of the armrest as if it was a life preserver; it had been so long since he’d done this, and he just couldn’t get over how amazing it felt to have Ethan like this, inside him, around him, flooding all his senses, until he couldn’t even remember that anything existed outside of this moment, outside the way their bodies connected, outside the way Ethan’s eyes shone when they met Ben’s. Then Ethan bottomed out, a relieved groan escaping him, and Ben struggled to breathe with the intensity of the feeling of being so full.

It was everything he had ever wanted it to be, and still so much better. Ethan kissed the inside of his knee, greedily, hungrily, then bit down hard enough that it had Ben cursing out loud - his arms seeming to move of their own accord as they reached out to pull him close. Ethan hurried to move Ben’s legs to encircle his hips instead, and Ben wasted no time tightening his hold as much as he could, gasping as Ethan gave a shallow thrust.

“E-Ethan,” he managed. “Oh, _fuck-_ ... feels good. _So_ good. P-please, move. It’s okay. Please, I-  just- please _move_.”

Ben was so tight around him Hux could hardly think beyond it, the slide of their skin made easier by sweat, Ben’s cock hard and straining and beautiful, so close to his face, and Hux thought - with what presence of mind he had left - that he may have died, that this was some sort of afterlife he’d done nothing to deserve but had lucked into anyway. That he’d never do anything half so good as slide into Ben, the squelch of the lube in his ass something so obscene and intimate that Hux wanted to hear it again, and he obeyed Ben’s request, moving his hips again, a sharper thrust this time, still slow, but _deeper_ \- a drag of his cock over the place his fingers had told him made Ben grind back against him, desperate, wanton, searching.

Hux loved seeing Ben this way - so spread wide open, cleaved in half by Hux and then put back together again, his singular face unshuttered in his pleasure and desire. He could have looked at it forever, at the way the muscles below the soft flesh of his stomach (how long ago had there been nothing soft on Ben at all?) tensed and tightened, quivering, at the way his hips moved with each of Hux’ thrust, rocking with his momentum, his head hung forward, sweat dripping from his nose and his hair, wet at the ends, hanging in his eyes. His mouth was half-agape, and he alternated between shallow breaths and huge gulps of his hair, the knot in his throat bobbing as he swallowed down spit that Hux knew still tasted like his release.

Hux had slept with his fair share of men before. He wasn’t a teenager, and he wasn’t a recluse, despite what the papers might have said - he was a grown man whose sexuality had long been a source of comfort for him, even when it had been something sordid to the world he’d been a part of, back before he’d removed himself from his father’s influence. He knew how to fuck and how to ride a cock when the occasion called for it; the thought didn’t cause him to blush the way it did some others. He could call the act what it was, could speak of it without shame, but the sight of the spit glistening at the corners of Ben’s mouth, wetting the fullness of his lower lip - the knowledge that, when Ben kissed him, he would taste himself, the salty musk Ben had swallowed greedily and then licked his lips after - was enough to push Hux to the edge, his balls going tight and the pooling heat in his groin spreading out lower, all pressure and heavy, cloying urgency.

Whoever bragged of being able to last had never fucked Ben Solo, who was now bearing down to match each thrust of Hux’ hips, letting out little grunts each time Hux adjusted his angle. Hux watched his face intently - the way he wrinkled his nose, the lines that formed between his eyes when he screwed them shut - waiting for the sign that he’d hit the right spot, that he’d driven himself home, that he’d drowned out the noisiness of Ben’s mind and left only pleasure in his wake, and when Ben’s back arched, his spine curling and the knees locked tight around Hux’ hips jerking erratically, Hux knew he was doing something right.

“So that’s the spot,” he murmured, half to himself. Ben’s skin was salty and and dimpled, gooseflesh erupting at each drag of his teeth down his neck, the impression of his incisors left on Ben’s left shoulder, ringed in purple. “If you like that, love, I need to hear it. Tell me. Tell me how good it is, how badly you want it. The things you want me to do to you. The way I make you feel. How much your cock aches right now. How you’d like me to touch it. Tell me how much you want to come for me.” Hux thrust again, so deep this time he thought he might rend Ben in half, but then Ben was surging up to meet him, driving him impossibly further inside, until Hux couldn’t remember what it was not to be buried inside Ben, not be a part of him, joined irrevocably. “ _Fuck,_ Ben. Love, let me hear you. I need to know I make you feel good. You make things so, so good for me, you don’t know - you _can’t-_ ”

His thighs clenched with the effort of keeping himself from spilling, Ben’s heat so much that Hux felt a tear drip down the side of his nose, the hair at the back of his neck damp and prickling.

“Oh, _God-_ ” Ben all but mewled, his nails digging damn near through the skin of Ethan’s back. “I can’t-! I- Feels _so_ good! Don’t stop! Don’t! I need- Fuck, you feel so _good_! Want you- want you like this forever.” He ran his hands down Ethan’s back, reveling in the feeling of his muscles dancing under his skin as he fucked him, settling them on the back of his hips, to press Ethan as close against him as he could - grinding his hips up to take him even deeper. “W-want you- _ah_ !- i-inside me forever- Ethan, I- don’t hold back! Don’t! I want- want to feel you for days- _please_ ! ‘M not- _ah, fuckfuckfuckkkk-_ not made of glass. I wanna come f-from this- _ah, fuck_ \- o-only f-from this! Wanted this forever- wanted you to- ah- t-to fuck me here, and- _shit_ , ah!- the bed, and the shower, and the- _ohGodyes_ !- and the k-kitchen, and _everywhere_! I want that, want it _so badly_ \- want you to- ugh, fuck, to not treat me like-  like I’m f-fragile. Want to _feel_ it- ah!”

Ben had never been much of a talker in bed, but _shit_ ; with Ethan talking to him like _that_ , Ben wasn’t going to hold back on his words - especially not since they were absolute, one hundred percent unapologetic truth. He wanted Ethan to have him, on every conceivable surface, in every conceivable way he could - wanted it with an intensity that almost scared him. He didn’t want to always be treated as if he was some brittle little china vase - he needed to _feel_ how wanted he was, what being inside him did to Ethan, needed it imprinted in the ache of his muscles, in the delicious soreness the day after, in every last little bite-mark and bruise Ethan could paint on his skin. It was a need that was way past hunger, a ferocity like an animal gone feral, and he hadn’t even understood the full scope of it himself until this moment, until Ethan did as he asked and set up a pace that could have been brutal had it not been for how much love he still kissed, and bit, and whispered into Ben’s skin. The force of his thrusts had Ben nearly bending in half - clinging onto him for dear life - the couch rocking with them, screeching against the floor and probably upsetting the neighbours. Sweat was dripping off of them both, gathering in the dips and hollows of their bodies, only to be sent flying onto the no longer pristine white of the couch, onto the cushions, the floor, and everything became more frantic, more sloppy, more trembling by the second as they worked toward their peak. It was filthy, raw, _profane_ , and still a moment of such profound sacredness the air trembled with it.

“I’m so close!” Ben gasped. The molten heat of his blood had coiled together below his navel, growing tighter and more white hot with every thrust, and he could feel the tightening of his muscles, the way his breath couldn’t quite make it down his lungs, the way his sweat ran like lava and ice at the same time. He wanted this to last forever, but there was no stopping his climax now. “So close! Ethan, _fuckkk_ , I’m- I’m not- I’m gonna-”

“Then come for me, Ben,” Ethan murmured against his lips. “Don’t hold back. Let me see you, pretty thing that you are. Let me wring you _dry._ ”

And just like that, Ben was shoved right over the edge like he couldn’t ever remember having been before - his orgasm torn out of him with a force that had his entire body seizing, a loud cry echoing through the midnight silence of their home, as Ethan continued to move inside him, chasing his own release. He rose himself up a little, readjusting his hold on Ben’s hips, and Ben couldn’t remember ever having seen anything more beautiful, more alluring, more arousing, than Ethan’s face as his orgasm began building up - his rhythm becoming erratic, desperate, his grip on Ben’s hips tightening enough to leave bruises - before he gave one last, deep thrust, going rigid as he buried himself to the hilt, coming deep inside Ben.

After working them both through their second round of aftershocks, Ethan collapsed back onto Ben, completely spent, and for several minutes neither of them could do anything but lie there, panting, trying to regain their ability to think and move. They weren’t really in any hurry - their silences had always been comfortable, something private and safe between them - and Ben found the weight of Ethan on top of him comforting, grounding. When Ethan did manage to move a little, it was only to caress Ben’s thigh and hip, the touch reverent, adoring. When he finally managed to prop himself up a little, he captured Ben’s lips in a deep, slow kiss, that spoke volumes of what he felt in that moment. Ben managed to get his arms to cooperate with him, and reached up to move a few red strands of hair out of Ethan’s face as they parted for air, a smile spreading across his face. But as Ethan made move to pull out, Ben tightened his legs around him.

“Please,” he whispered. “Not yet. Please? It feels good. Stay like this a little longer?”

“For however long you’ll have me,” Ethan promised on a sigh. “For however long you’ll have me.”

It was a good half an hour before either of them even wanted to think about moving, but eventually, the thought of their soft bed, and their warm covers started to feel very appealing. After the quickest of showers either of them had had in a long time - clinging to each other, legs shaky, and knees weak - they crawled into bed, still naked. Tomorrow, they’d have to deal with all the bad stuff again, all the business, all the annoying aspects of everyday life - but none of that even existed in this moment, because in this moment, Ben was exhausted, and sore, and sated, and still high on the knowledge that this had finally happened. He had finally been able and allowed to give himself to Ethan, give everything that he was, and know that Ethan still craved him like a starved man craves food. He was loved, and he was wanted. He belonged. _Nothing_ could take that away.

Once they were comfortable, Ben pulled Ethan in for another kiss, and soon fell asleep, tucked safely against Ethan’s chest.

\---

_For however long you’ll have me._

Ethan Hux woke in the middle of the night to a darkened room and pressure on his bladder; if there was to be any hope of going back to sleep, he would need to relieve himself, and sighing and stretching, muscles reminding him he’d engaged in an activity far more strenuous than his body had seen in a while, he rolled over.

When he did, he was so stricken by the sight of his partner that he forgot what had woken him in the first place. Ben had kicked off most of the covers in the hours he’d been asleep, so that only their top sheet covered him from the waist down, one foot peeking out at the foot of the bed. Light from the pale March moon spilled into the bedroom from the window where they’d neglected to draw the shade, casting a city of shadows along the planes of his chest, his eyes moving beneath their lids and his fingers twitching where they held onto the edge of his pillow. It had started up raining outside; Hux could hear the water slapping the window, monotonous and lazy, could see the reflections of the city lights off the droplets that made their way down the glass, and just for a moment, he allowed himself to take it all in. This night, this moment, this man who shared his bed and his home and his heart - and now, something else too.

Perhaps it should have felt different, things between them changed, with what he and Ben had shared - but instead, it was simply an extension of what had already existed between them, from the first moment Hux had caught sight of him from across his administrative department. There, with the moonlight stretched thin and white on the sliver of space separating them, it was as if there had never been any other possibility, no way things could have gone that _didn’t_ end with him loving Ben. Really, Hux had never had any choice in it at all.

_For however long you’ll have me._

Hux hoped that was a hell of a long time - long enough that he’d get to tease Ben about his first grey hair, about his twentieth, about each and everyone one that came after. And if the lucky star that had followed him throughout his life came through, he would.

...but if it didn’t, he thought, shifting to alleviate the twinge of discomfort in his bladder as he pressed himself against Ben’s back and closed his eyes, well, he wouldn’t regret a moment of this. After all, not every man got to love someone like Ben, and some things? Some things could wait until morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only one chapter this time! We are nearly at the end of our journey with Ben and Ethan, dear readers! After this, there will be one last update, consisting of the final chapter and an epilogue. But don't worry - Team Redhead isn't through with you yet. There's more to come from us, though we can't reveal exactly what just yet. All we can say is to be on the lookout - hints might come sooner than you think.
> 
> We hope you enjoy the final installments of our story and that it proves to have been a satisfying ride. If you have comments about anything Empire-related, you can - as always - reach Loke at ficlet-machine and Cat at thegoodlannister over on tumblr!


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No trigger warnings apply in our final chapter :)

“Mr Hux! Ethan Hux, over here!” A camera flashed to Hux’ right as he climbed out of his town car door, a hand shielding his eyes so the photographer caught not even his profile, only his bent knee, clad in black slacks, and the toe of his polished leather shoes. “Mr Hux, just a quick photo. You know the camera loves you!”

Whether the camera did, in fact, love him or not, Hux didn’t know, and he blinked, spots dancing in front of his eyes. He was still half-in, half-out of the car, Ben next to him, looking overwhelmed, with no time to think of an appropriate response before the shouting started up again, more insistent this time.

“Please, the public is dying to see you with that boy of yours. Is he in there?” Someone had thought to put a rope up outside of the entrance to Pier Sixty, and the man who had shouted his name hung over it, trying to get a peek inside the tinted window. After a few moments of studying, he threw a look over his shoulder, calling to someone in the bushes. “There’s someone else in there with him, I can see them. It’s him - it’s gotta be.” Suddenly, the cameras had multiplied - and the men holding them too, shoving each other out of the way in a scuffle for the spot closest to the rope. “C’mon, Mr Hux. The gig is up. You can’t hide the boy away forever! Let us get a look at him! That’s the only way you’re ever going to get any peace.”

A hand still on the wheel, his driver turned in his seat to face the two of them, taking in the stricken look on Ben’s face. It wasn’t the first time Ben had dealt with the gossip rags who so wanted a glimpse into the life Hux led behind the closed doors of his penthouse, but they were usually more discreet. While the speculation of who Ben was ran rampant, they’d never before called for him directly; either they were growing bolder, or more desperate, with the months that passed.

“You want me to find another entrance?” he asked, the engine revving as he prepared to pull away, and Hux let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose and resting his elbow on his knee while he gathered himself. Already the first week of April, and the afternoon before the AIGA gala. The days leading up to it had sped past so quickly Hux hadn’t had time to consider that the media might have gotten wind of his nomination and attendance. There had been reservations to consider, speeches to prepare, the choice of which members of his team to bring, appointments with Thanisson to ensure he’d be the best-dressed man there - all of this interspersed with the realization that there was now a whole new world of touches for he and Ben to explore. His focus on the gala was of utmost importance, but his focus on the ways he could play Ben like a finely tuned instrument, on the litany of sounds he could coax from him at a press of his fingers, had given it a run for its money.

He was paying for that now; had his mind been in the right place, he would have expected this and prepared not only himself, but Ben, for the barrage of camera flashes and questions at the gala’s registration. Phasma’s car was pulled up behind his, he knew, her driver not as acquainted with this area as his own, and Mitaka was pulled up behind her. He and Ben might have been able to escape had it been only the two of them, but there were others to think about - as well as his professional reputation if he was caught running from the goddamned _paparazzi_ with his entire team in tow. No, he was going to have to face this - and face it, well… like a man.

Outside, the photographer who had first called his name was throwing a leg over the rope, preparing to hop it, and Hux took Ben’s hand in between his own, their driver still looking between the two of them. His lifted his head, cameras flashing in the corner of his vision as his eyes met Ben’s.

“Do you trust me?”

Ben swallowed hard, his throat working, and Hux lifted his hand to kiss the back of it, giving him a lopsided smile. Even in the teeming activity outside of the gala registration, he had to admire how ravishing his partner looked. The week prior, Hux had taken him to his own barber, set up in the back of Thanisson’s shop, since he hadn’t had a proper haircut in all the time Hux had known him. It had taken that long for the unflattering cut he’d been wearing when they met to grow out, anyway - not that anything could have detracted from Ben’s unmistakable features. At first, Ben had been hesitant to admit he wanted to keep it long, but Hux had been overjoyed to hear it when finally the barber had wheedled the information out of him. The way Ben’s hair curled around his face, thick and luscious, was one of Hux’ favorite things - and though a little shorter, it still did, the curls at the ends bouncier now that they had been shaped. It was a soft look, one that matched his partner’s soft demeanor.

A few moments of Ben flushing under his open appreciation, and then he was nodding, his eyes wide and his grip on Hux’ hand tightening.

“Then just hold onto me and give your prettiest smile,” Hux said, squeezing Ben’s hand in response, before pushing open the door the rest of the way and slinging his leg outside of it once more. “We’re going to give them something to write about.”

When he pulled Ben out of the car behind him, Hux flashed a smile so bright it rivaled the camera flashes that went off around them, spots of light on every side, rendering him almost blind, the click of dozens of shutters closing at once loud in his ears. Beside him, Ben was quiet, his head swiveling from side to side at shouts that seemed to come from everywhere at once. There were a dozen other cars pulled up outside, all long and sleek in shades of black and brown, but none of them were attracting the attention his was, and he kept an arm tucked around Ben’s waist, the smile straining his cheeks as he fought not to squint under the barrage.

He couldn’t blame the media for their obsession with Ben. The haircut suited him, and he’d taken Phasma’s advice and dressed in something that made him comfortable: slim, black jeans paired with a checked flannel button-up over an equally black shirt sporting the logo of one of his favorite bands. Casual perhaps, but professional enough for a creative-type like an artist, Hux had assured him - especially when Ben had bent over to lace up his boots that morning, exposing just how well the jeans fit. He wouldn’t have had him any other way, and the collective intake of breath at the blush on his partner’s cheeks when he stumbled and Hux had to steady him said his newly gained fanclub agreed.

“If you’re going to be spending so much of your time looking at him, you ought to at least know his name,” Hux announced, addressing the flock of photographers and journalists gathered on either side of them. “The ‘boy’ you’re talking about is Ben Solo. That’s Solo spelled ‘s-o-l-o’ - I don’t want you getting it wrong in print - and not only is he one of the most up and coming artists in the city, he’s also the one responsible for the design that won Imperial Marketing its ticket here this weekend. We could never have done it without his creative input. I count myself lucky to have worked with him these past months.” The crowd had gone quiet as soon as he started talking, Phasma and Mitaka both hesitating outside the cars that had driven them, their hands still on the doors, looking on as if Hux had lost his mind. His smile ratcheted up another notch, more genuine now, a laugh bubbling up from inside as he exposed his teeth. Perhaps he should have thought better of what he was about to do, but Hux didn’t give a damn. The pride of having Ben at his side threatened to burst out of him; he’d buried it down for as long as he could, and he pulled him in closer, Ben stumbling again in his hold.

“I also count myself lucky to call him the love of my life,” he said, the words like releasing a breath he’d been holding since he’d first admitted his feelings, at least to Ben, all those months ago. And with that, he bent Ben back and whispered in his ear, low enough that no one else could hear, “Remember, you said you trusted me,” before closing the distance between them with a kiss, his arm supporting the bend in Ben’s spine so that he hovered over the pavement as if they’d just finished a dance. He held him there, suspended in a dip so low it would have impressed at a salsa competition as every camera in the vicinity flashed at once, the afternoon suddenly so bright that even Hux’ closed eyes couldn’t block it out completely, tiny pinpricks of light exploding behind the translucent veins of his eyelids.

It was a chaste kiss, but thorough - held long enough to ensure that it was documented from every angle, as Ben made a noise of surprise into it, clinging onto Hux like he was afraid he might drop him. Hux had always had a flair for the dramatic; he just kissed him all the harder, and by the time he pulled back, his partner was pink and panting, licking his lips as he looked up into Hux’ eyes in disbelief. He blinked rapidly, then unwound one of his arms from around Hux’ neck, bringing his fingers up to touch where Hux had just kissed him.

“Did you really just… you didn’t... _”_ He trailed off as Hux righted him. “ _Wow_.” The word was said so dreamily that Hux had to laugh again, shaking his head as he rubbed his own lips together, tasting Ben, spots still dancing at the edges of his vision.

“Everyone,” he announced, once he’d collected himself, extending the arm that wasn’t wrapped solidly around Ben’s waist. “Ben Solo, Imperial Marketing’s premiere creative consultant!” His voice rang out amongst the crowd, booming, until he was shocked into silence by the unexpected sound of cheering. Had someone told Hux that something he would say to the paparazzi would one day end in a round of applause, he would have told them they were full of shit, but when he gestured to Ben, the only thing louder than chorus of hollers and whistles from their onlookers was their clapping.

Looking out over the crowd, shielding his eyes, Hux knew it wasn’t _him_ they were cheering for - not even Phasma and Mitaka, who were shouting louder than them all, Phasma’s hands cupped around her mouth. For the first time he could remember, he wasn’t the main event. He wasn’t even Ethan Hux; he was the man _with_ Ben Solo, and as he took a shuffling step back to leave Ben in the spotlight, his hand still on the dip in his partner’s spine, he’d never been prouder than he was to be just that.

He didn’t need to be the main event when he had Ben at his side, he now understood, Ben’s skin bathed in the light from the cameras. Hux might have struggled with it, but Ethan - this man Ben had taught him how to be - was content to support him, to watch from the sidelines as his partner wowed everyone else, just as he’d wowed him, once upon a time and every day after that. Was content to let himself fade into the background, and he waited until the cheering had died down and the clicking of shutters came more intermittently before leaning forward to brush his lips up against his partner’s ear, beaming.

“I told you we were going to give them something to write about.” He pinched the skin of Ben’s hip through his checked shirt. “So tell me, Mr Solo, what does it feel like to be one of the most esteemed men in New York?”

“I don’t know,” Ben whispered back, not dropping his smile even for a second. This was, perhaps, the only thing he really had Leia to thank for. Without her training, he wouldn’t have known what the fuck to do with himself in this situation. “I kinda really want to go inside now, because these people are freaking me out.”

Ethan wasted no time letting his arm settle around Ben’s waist, smoothly leading them both up the red carpet and out of the line of sight of the paparazzi. Shouts of disappointment echoed behind them, begging Ethan to come back with Ben for ‘just a few more pictures of you together, come on!’ and shouting for Ben to ‘come back just for a little, a few close-ups,’ and Ben had never felt more like a rockstar than in that moment. He couldn’t believe they were all climbing over each other to get a picture of _him_. Ethan had warned him it might get a bit intense, and Ben was aware that there would be a full posse of paparazzis - but he had thought they’d be more interested in all the other people attending. There were, after all, some really huge names on the list of nominees and attendees - and next to that bunch, Ben Solo was a nobody. Or so he had thought.

He was grateful to be in the company of a group of people that had done this whole thing before, because while he had excellent knowledge and skills when it came to the finer aspects of socializing in the higher spheres of society, this was still very different. Galas were a category of their own, with a unique set of procedures, rules, and expectations. Ben was more than a little out of his depth, and all he could do was follow Ethan, Phasma, and Mitaka’s lead, and try to remember all the stuff he’d been told. He had been terrified by the thought of being seated by some table full of strangers, knowing that it was a real possibility, and breathed a sigh of relief when it turned out that Imperial had been assigned two large tables of their own, and that there were no fixed seats. As they got seated for dinner, Ben felt a lot more comfortable with Ethan on one side, Mitaka on the other, and Phasma next to Ethan on the other side. Comfortable enough, in fact, that he even managed to join in when the others engaged in people watching - commenting on the snippets of conversation they could overhear, on the overly extravagant or flat out ridiculous outfits, the wide gestures and the self-assured postures. No doubt that they were surrounded by artist types, that much was certain. Artists and executives, in one hell of a weird mixture - and Ben found himself having fun.

The dinner was every bit as pretentious as he had been warned about, but at last he wasn’t the only one staring at his plate as if it might explode in his face as it was put down in front of him. Phasma had been the first to poke at the strange little… arrangement, and after a careful bite - closely watched by their entire table - she had informed them that it appeared to be some sort of pilaff type thing, but the jury remained out on what the rest of the stuff was. They were all pretty sure food wasn’t supposed to come in colours like that. The dessert was, apparently, a lavender sorbet, with delicate looking little decorations of white chocolate, and some other thing that - again - no one at the table quite managed to work out what it was. It was purple. Ben wasn’t entirely sure he was okay with eating food that was purple, but he still finished his portion, and then leaned in to inform Ethan that he’d rather not ever have that again. Ethan had agreed wholeheartedly.

It was a good thing that Phasma had arrived at their hotel room about twenty minutes after they did themselves - barging in there in her signature bulldozer manner, but this time also dragging poor Mitaka with her - armed with a hefty amount of takeout food. After they’d had their meal at the dinner table (Ben still couldn’t get over that they were not only staying in a suite, but that the suite was large enough to have an actual dining room in it), the rich and filling Chinese food settling in their stomachs in the most pleasant way, Phasma had taken a look at Ben’s chosen outfit, then left again - apparently to bully Mitaka about his.

Ethan, this lovely, kind, understanding man of his, had made sure they’d gotten checked in at the Four Seasons as early as possible in the day, to give Ben some time to settle in and feel safe there. They were staying the weekend, which Ben had had some difficulties accepting at first - having needed a lot of reassurance that Millie would be taken care of while they were here - but now he felt rather thrilled; it was like a miniature romantic getaway, even if it was in the same city, and once he’d entered the suite, he’d been sure for a moment that he’d died and gone to heaven. Sure, their penthouse was quite luxurious as well, but this was just… The Royal Suite, indeed. Once Phasma and Mitaka had left, Ethan had gotten somewhat mischievous, and offered to help him ‘relax a bit’ before they had to leave. Ben wasn’t sure he’d ever look at a bathtub without blushing again, and his knees had still been a little wobbly when they made their way down to the car. But he was thankful now, because he was still riding on the remnants of that high, and it helped him keep his anxiety at bay. Well, that, and a dose of Atarax - of which he had a few extra pills in Ethan’s inner pocket, just in case.

Each table had been provided with a copy of the evening’s programme, and for each speech and performance given, Ben’s heart climbed a bit higher up his throat. He’d been fine most of the day, but now that the actual handing out of awards crept closer and closer, Ben was starting to feel the pressure. He had read up on the award he’d been nominated for, and he was more convinced than ever that this must be some sort of joke, because surely there was someone more deserving than him? There had to be, and he’d said it about a million and one times to Mitaka over the past week when he’d been over to go over the details, and help Ben write his acceptance speech. Luckily for Ben, Mitaka was blessed with far more patience and kindness than anyone else he’d ever met, and whenever Ben’s nerves threatened to get the better of him, Mitaka would smoothly change subject for a while - asking about Ben’s art, about Millie, and sharing little anecdotes about Ethan. Together they’d gone over his speech enough times for Ben to more or less be able to recite it in his sleep. He was prepared - he was just extremely nervous, and he spent most of the time after dinner breathing in squares, counting breaths, and squeezing Ethan’s hand for all he was worth. But he did hang in there, and he knew that tomorrow morning, he would be proud of himself. Exhausted, yes, but still proud.

And then came the time for the awards.

Hux hadn’t told Ben, but he’d paid $20,000 for these seats - because, while he had no illusions about his chances of winning the corporate leadership award, he wanted Imperial to be in the front row when they handed Ben the award for the design he had created for Jessika, who was also in attendance one table over, despite Hux’ better judgement. His partner didn’t expect to win, but Hux knew better, ticking off the awards in his head as they passed by - each one closer to the one Ben had been nominated for, which was the last on the roster. Beside them, a full orchestra, all outfitted in black vests and bowties and complete with a contrabass and harp, provided background music, low and lilting, and the wine was free-flowing, attendants filling his glass even before he’d finished emptying it - a perk Phasma took full advantage of, finishing them off in record time while Mitaka looked at her with raised eyebrows, sipping his own wine daintily.

Hux laughed at the display, the inside of his chest feeling warm and full with the closeness of his friends. And they _were_ his friends - he knew that now - not just the people he worked with, but the people he had chosen. Phasma with the brashness of her demeanor and her ability to put away more wine than any man he’d ever known. Mitaka with his unexpected bravado and kind smile, reserved for special occasions. Ben, who was so much more than his friend, but was that too. Was that _first_ , perhaps, more than anything else, with his hand slotted into Hux’ and his teeth stained faintly purple with the few sips of wine he’d taken.

Sitting there in Pier Sixty on a warmish night in April, surrounded on all sides by the people he shared his life with as he listened to strangers accept awards he couldn’t give two shits about, Hux was more content than he ever remembered being, the sense of belonging something he didn’t know he’d been searching for until suddenly it was _there_. Conversation was easy with these people; they knew _him_ , not the man he had taught himself to be, but something more fundamental. They’d known that man longer than he had, and when he laughed, Phasma joined in, sloshing wine over the side of her glass and onto the cream tablecloth and snorting into her fist while Ben stifled a smile into Hux’ shoulder.

Time passed so easily that Hux didn’t notice when the master of ceremonies reached the corporate leadership award; it wasn’t until he heard his name listed among the nominees that he sat up straighter, uncrossing his legs and placing his wineglass on the table. On either side of him, Ben, Phasma, and Mitaka all did the same, putting down their drinks down and going silent, their attention suddenly focused on the stage. As the importance of the award was elaborated on - how esteemed it was, what it said about the recipient and their reputation in the community, their hard work and tireless dedication, their vision and inspiration and eye for business - Hux wondered which of the nominees, all with careers so much longer than his own, it would go to. He couldn’t slight them, he thought, one side of his mouth turning up as the audience clapped in turn for each of them, at least he still had all of his hair.

“Now, there’s no reason to expect me to win - and certainly no reason to be disappointed if I don’t,” Hux whispered, turning to address his friends and colleagues one by one, a resigned smile on his face. “It was an honor just to be nominated. I’ll have my time - next year, perhaps.” He gave a small nod, and Phasma opened her mouth - probably to object - but whatever she might have had to say was drowned out in the wave of cheering that accompanied the sound of his name when it was said for a second time. It echoed over the speakers, leaving Hux frozen. He couldn’t work it out - why would they say his name a second time? Hadn’t they already listed all the nominees? He’d already given his wave and smiled for the camera when it panned his way, hadn’t he?

Before he could blink, his mouth still agape, there were people on Hux’ every side, hands wrapped around his upper arms to haul him up and out of his seat, too shocked to resist. The orchestra had increased its tempo, the volume louder now, a spotlight coming to shine down on his chair as he stumbled to his feet, his head swiveling. When he turned to see who had pulled him to his feet, he saw that one of the sets of hands belonged to Phasma, the other to Mitaka. Both of them looked so proud they might burst, and Ben was standing in front of him, smiling for all he was worth.

“W-what’s happening?” Hux asked, his head feeling strangely light, as if it might float away. Odd, he didn’t remember having had that much to drink, but he wasn’t sure he would have been able to remain standing had he not had Mitaka and Phasma’s hands to steady him. “Why am I standing? What are you - why are we -?”

“You _won_ ,” Ben interrupted when he trailed off, his voice barely audible over the swell of the music. Every one of his teeth was exposed with the force of his grin as he looked up into the spotlight that hovered over them, his fingers wrapping around Hux’ wrist. “The corporate leadership award. It’s, uhm, it’s yours. They’re giving it to _you_.” Even as Ben said the words, Hux had trouble understanding them, his heart beating triple time in his chest as once again, he got lost in the wideness of Ben’s eyes.

“Seriously,” Phasma said, exasperated, when that failed to get him moving, and she gave him a little shove. “You need to go accept it, or this is going to get awkward.” But she was smiling too as she said it, her nails still biting into Hux’ shoulder as she started marching him toward the stage, the camera he’d waved into before now following his every move. He gave it a shaky nod when he reached the stairs, catching his reflection in the lens out of the corner of his eye. There was a hair out of place on the side of his head, sticking straight up, and he licked the palm of his hand to smooth it down before navigating the first step, still feeling like he might float away at any moment - but the spotlight was hot and bright and the stairs were solid beneath his feet, so this had to be real.

Once he stood at the top of the last step, he looked behind him to find Phasma waiting at the bottom; he hadn’t noticed when she’d stopped following, but the look on her face and the thumbs up she flashed him said she was still with him, even if she wasn’t by his side. She always had been. Mitaka too. How he’d missed that for so many years, he wasn’t sure.

There had to be at least one thousand people in attendance, Hux thought, looking out over the sea of faces, maybe more - even still, he found the only one he wanted to see with no trouble at all. Ben was still standing in front of his chair, his hands clasped over his chest and his eyes locked on Hux’, and that was all it took to calm the hammering of Hux’ heart. A microphone was thrust into one hand, a trophy - crystal and pyramid-shaped - into the other, but the whole time, it was Ben who held his attention, with his hair flopped over one eye and the silver of the one bracelet he was never without catching the spotlight. When he found himself swallowing a nervous laugh, Ben smiled up at him, confident, looking for all the world like he saw in Hux some kind of prince, white horse and all.

Hux had taken riding lessons as a boy, but the pony he’d ridden had been grey - and he hadn’t been all that good at it. As he positioned the trophy so he could dig into the pocket of his suit jacket for the index cards he’d used to record the talking points of his acceptance speech, he just hoped his partner wouldn’t hold it against him when he realized.

“J-just a moment…” Hux began, then closed his eyes and took a steadying breath, opening them to find Ben still looking nowhere but him. “Just let me-” He fumbled with the cards, ensuring they were in the right order before holding up the first of them, but one quick read-through had him pulling a face and dropping his hand to his side. “So, it appears the speech I prepared for this wasn’t my best work.” There was a collective gasp from the audience where he tossed the cards aside, leaving them to flutter to the stage. “I’ll admit I didn’t expect to win. But somehow - miraculously - I find myself standing on this stage, and I can’t in good conscience deliver that load of drivel to the fine people who have gifted me with this award. So you’re going to have to bear with me as I, well - wing it, as it were.” He lifted his shoulders in an apologetic shrug.

“Please don’t think me ungrateful,” Hux said, plaintive. “I couldn’t be farther from it. This is… this is the kind of honor I never, in my wildest dreams, imagined I’d see at such a young age. But then, I was founding my own marketing firm when most in my field were still acting as associates. I suppose things have a way of happening early in my life.” When next he spoke, his voice was softer, quieter - speaking more to himself than to the audience - the trophy held out in front of him so he could inspect the engraving of his name on plated gold. “It’s only recently that I’ve come to realize just how little this has to do with me.”

“I know I should extend my thanks to the _Professional Association of Design_ , and I do. That you even considered me when faced with the choice of my fellow esteemed nominees, whose careers extend _decades_ beyond my own, has left me both stunned and overwhelmed. I- there was a time I would have said there was no honor in the community of which I was undeserving. Now I know that isn’t true.” He swallowed hard, using the trophy to gesture to the table where his friends and associates were gathered. “If this honor should go to anyone, it should be to Mitaka.” The spotlight moved to his assistant, his hands freezing mid-clap and his mouth falling open, and Hux inclined his head. “Who thought to nominate me for this award when I would never have nominated myself.”

“Or to Phasma.” The spotlight swiveled at the mention of her name, bouncing off the blonde of her hair, styled so that it stood higher than usual, defying gravity. Only Phasma could have pulled it off. “Who is not only my COO, but who is in large part responsible for the fact that Imperial is still standing today. Without her, I would have run the place into the ground ten times over. She is the best partner in marketing a man could ask for, and more than that, she is an absolute _ass_. Of the first class, mind you.” There was a ripple of quiet laughter through the crowd, and he waited for Phasma’s face to turn a satisfying shade of red before continuing.

“She is also my dearest friend,” he admitted, now gesturing toward her place at the foot of the stairs. “And I wouldn’t trade her for the world.” He’d never seen Phasma blush before, but as he winked down at her, Hux knew the reason for the slight flush on her cheekbones and at the tips of her ears no longer had anything to do with annoyance. She might kill him for the indignity later, he suspected - but if she did, it would be worth it.

“The rest of team at Imperial, even those not able to be here with me, have all played a hand in this. Tonight I give them the thanks I’ve failed to extend to them until now.” Hux cleared his throat, which had gone suddenly tight. “The credit I’ve taken over the years for my own success has been… not entirely warranted, and for that, I thank my father, Brendol Hux, who did well in teaching me the kind of man _not_ to be.” It was more than he should have said, those who knew the name breaking out into hushed whispers, but looking at Ben, in the front row where he’d always been, cheering Hux on, there might have been no one else in the room. “As for the person who showed me the kind of man I should have wanted to be all along, that credit can be given to only one person: Ben, my partner, as well as one of the most brilliant creative minds I’ve ever known. And believe me, it took every ounce of that creativity to see in me what I couldn’t see in myself.”

“Ben, love, you… I know how cliche this sounds, and I wish I could do better, but you’ve… you’ve changed me. Or knowing you has changed me. Or maybe it hasn’t and this is the person I’ve always been and I didn’t know it. Or... _dammit!_ The point is, Ben, you have become my reason for everything, and if I was going to thank you enough for what you’ve given me - the drive and the passion and the _purpose_ and the lessons you’ve taught me about what it means to be _alive_ \- we would all be here until tomorrow morning.” Now he addressed the audience, his eyes burning and his laugh watery. “And I don’t think any of you want that. There are, of course, other awards to be given tonight - one of which my partner has been nominated for, so you can imagine I’m just as anxious to get on with it as you are.”

“It’s for that reason that I’m going to keep this simple - well, that and the fact that I’ve likely already run well over the time limit for these things. I don’t care to be dragged off the stage.” Again the audience joined him in his laughter, and when he returned his attention to Ben, his eyes were just as damp as Hux’, his laugh, Hux knew, more of a hiccup, though he couldn’t make it out amongst the crowd. “Thank you, Ben. For _everything._ ”

With that, he thrust the trophy into the air and then did a deep bow - not to the audience, but to Ben. Ben, who truly had given him everything and more, who had bled on his sofa and painted his walls and changed the scape of Hux’ life, taken him apart piece by piece and then rebuilt him: Ethan Hux, who loved his firm and his friends, who knew _how_ to love them and was learning what it meant to love himself. He had lied when he’d said they’d be here until tomorrow morning if he were to give Ben all the thanks that was due him - as he walked down the stairs and into Ben’s arms, the sound of applause far away, he knew he’d spend the rest of his life doing that.

Ben was glad the spotlight didn’t follow Ethan off the stage, because he didn’t need them all to see how hard he started blushing when Ethan pulled him close and kissed him. Ben hugged him back, as tightly as he could - pride blooming in his chest, so strongly he worried he might burst open from it. It didn’t surprise him for a second that Ethan would take home that award; not with everything Ben had seen and heard during his time at Imperial, paired with all the things he’d learned since moving in with him all those months ago. Ethan deserved that award, and Ben was damn near beside himself with happiness for him. Who would’ve known that his partner was capable of looking so flummoxed! When Phasma had marched him over to the stage, he’d looked as if someone just hit him across the head - it had actually been rather… well, cute. Not that Ben would ever tell him that.

Ethan didn’t stop smiling even when they got seated by the table again, and he held onto Ben’s hand the whole time, as if it was an anchor to him, as if it would keep him there, grounded. Ben could relate to that; after all, that was usually how it felt for him when he held Ethan’s hand. Noticing his own train of thought, he mentally facepalmed - he hadn’t had a lot of wine, but it was stronger than anticipated, and apparently it was getting to him a little if he was sitting there thinking these cheesy things - and tried to focus on the awards being given out. Some of the winners gave exactly the type of speeches one would expect; full of self-exaltation, half-assed thanks to a select few, and so many clichés that Ben wanted to hide under the table from the embarrassment. Then there were some who gave happy, humble, and obviously sincere speeches - some of them even went on longer than Ethan’s had, and they had to be gently nudged off stage. But Ben still had a lot of fun. He couldn’t remember a time before he met Ethan, when he had been allowed to attend an event and be treated as just another person, just another intelligent, professional adult surrounded by his peers. While he knew he was going to be paying for this for at least a week, it was worth it. It was worth a week or so of shuffling around their home in his pajamas, napping every other hour, and generally not get anything done due to the fatigue - because he was sitting here with people who _saw_ him, who _treasured_ him.

He was sitting here with Ethan. The love of his life - something he realized with a little start that he hadn’t actually told Ethan. But it was the truth. While he was starting to find his way in the world, his steps still occasionally hesitant and even stumbling, and he was learning to make friends, to be a friend - knowing that more friends would come, that as his horizon expanded, so would his circle of people who cared about him - the plain and simple truth was that no man could ever come after Ethan. No man ever would. Ethan was his home, and Ben couldn’t envision any direction for his life to take where Ethan wasn’t the hub, the glowing centre, upon which his entire world spun. Ethan was it for him - the end of the line - and Ben wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

Then came the last award, the one Ben had been nominated for, and suddenly he was so nervous he could barely breathe. Mitaka held a supporting hand on his shoulder, Ethan let Ben squeeze his poor hand to a point that must have been absolutely excruciating, and Phasma gave him her most encouraging smile as the master of ceremonies rattled off the names of the nominees. Then, absolute silence filling the hall, Ben’s heart beating so hard he was sure he’d have bruises on the outside, the winner was announced…. And Ben was dead sure he’d heard wrong. Because they had just said his name. That had been his name being called, and now he could definitely never giggle at Ethan’s reaction again, because Mitaka had to escort him to the stairs, gently reminding him that he had a perfect speech, and that he would do just fine, then pushing him up the stairs onto the stage.

Before could get his bearings right, the trophy - identical to Ethan’s - was in his hand, and a mic was placed in the other. Good thing he’d memorized his speech, then. He couldn’t reach for the little cards to save his life right now. The spotlight was almost painfully bright, and warm, and Ben was glad he was wearing a shirt instead of a suit, or he’d have melted for sure. Everyone in the room seemed to be on their feet, the sound of applause deafening, and Ben could do little but wait for it to die down a bit before he could say anything. The fact that they were applauding him was just ridiculous, but he figured he just had to roll with it this time. Then, finally, the room quieted down enough for him to make himself heard.

“Uhm,” he began, trying to remember what he was supposed to say, with very mixed results. “I… wow. I know I’m basically just repeating what everyone’s already said now, but I honestly never expected to be on this stage tonight. I really didn’t. Because seriously, people - you had real, proper, respected artists and designers as nominees, and still you picked me. So, uhm, forgive me if I’m a bit overwhelmed up here, because wow.” Understanding laughter came from several places in the room. “So when I say I want to thank the _Professional Association of Design_ from the bottom of my heart, I really mean it. Thank you for allowing me to be here tonight, for being nominated at all, and even more so for considering me worthy of this award.” Applause and cheering made him pause for a little. “I’m especially grateful, seeing as I never went to any art school, I’ve never taken an art class - save for the usual art classes in high school. I don’t have a degree in anything - in fact, I went into economics in college. Which was rather a horrible idea, to be honest.” More laughter, and Ben reveled in how it was laughter of recognition - they laughed with him, not at him.

“But of course, I didn’t get here on my own, and there are people to whom I owe a debt of gratitude I don’t think I’ll ever be able to repay. But first, I want to thank my grandmother, Padme Skywalker, for keeping my creativity safe for as long as she could, even when others thought creativity a flaw in me. I also want to thank my grandfather, Anakin Skywalker, for my ability to create at all. Though neither of them are with us anymore, they are always present in every line I draw.” He had to pause and take a deep breath, willing the tears away - Mitaka had warned him that emotions tended to be amplified on stage.

“Six months ago, I wouldn’t have thought this was a possibility even worth thinking about thinking of. If any of you had met me then, you wouldn’t have believed me able to draw a matchstick figure - I know I didn’t. I had forgotten what art was, what it meant to me, and I didn’t believe in myself enough to ever dare try to remember.” A brief glance down told him that people were in tears for him - even Phasma looked like she might start sobbing - and he hurried to focus on the safer option of the back wall. “I would still be that ghost of a person if not for the incredible kindness, patience, and never-ending encouragement of three specific people. Dopheld Mitaka, for being the single most gentle yet tough person I’ve ever met, and for never losing patience with me and all my insecurities. For nominating me for this award, even though I’ve done nothing to earn such recognition.” The spotlight hit Mitaka, and he looked like Christmas had come for a second time. “And Phasma, for having seen me at my worst, and still being there to help me through it. For the movie nights, and the overly honest advice, and being the first genuine friend I’ve ever made.” At that, Phasma did start to cry as she formed a little heart with her hands, before wiping the tears away.

“And lastly, knowing there aren’t words to express what I truly feel, I want to thank my partner Ethan.” He had to pause again, to take another breath - Ethan looked frozen in place down by the table, but he was smiling, his eyes glowing with love, and Ben took strength from them. “Because without you, Ethan, I wouldn’t be here today. I wouldn’t be here to create, to be nominated, to receive this award. Dramatic maybe, but it’s true. I didn’t know what ‘home’ meant until you showed me. I thought my art was a flaw, something to hide, to be ashamed of, until you told me you wanted my art on the largest wall in our home. I didn’t know how to belong until you came and made room for me in your life. You are everything. Thank you.”

With that, he handed the mic back and walked off stage, and just as his knees started to give out a little, Ethan was there to catch him, just like he always was - pulling Ben into a secure embrace, letting him rest his head on his shoulder. The applause was thunderous around them, but Ben was too tired now to care. His energy was draining fast, and he had wanted to save some of it for later, for back at the hotel, and all the things Ethan had promised him they’d get up to there. It seemed that Ethan remembered it just as well as Ben did, as he tilted his head so he could whisper into Ben’s ear.

“You did so well, love. So well. We can leave in a minute or so if you want. Just as soon as-” The master of ceremonies took that moment to announce that there would be a short break, and then the floor would open for mingling, and more refreshments would be served. “Well, now, in fact.”

Ben nodded, kissing the soft skin on his neck, inhaling the smell of him.

“Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

Ethan wasted no time in saying the briefest of goodbyes to Phasma and Mitaka, who both had very knowing smiles on their faces, causing Ben to blush, and then they were leaving - Ethan guiding him through the crowd with ease, and back into the waiting town car fast enough that the still lingering paparazzi didn’t even have time to react. Maybe it wasn’t the most polite thing to do in these circumstances, but Ben found that he couldn’t care less. He was tired of people, he was overwhelmed, and he wanted to be alone with his partner - preferably right now - and so he breathed a sigh of relief when the driver got the car going, and headed for the Four Seasons. It was okay to be selfish sometimes, Ben thought. It was okay to want things for oneself.

\---

The Four Seasons New York had 52 stories, and the suite he shared with Ben was at the very top of them, affording them a view of New York that, while not capable of rivaling the one from his own penthouse, was impressive in its own right. Even if it hadn’t been, Ethan would still have been on top of the world; nothing could have touched his soul-deep contentment. He was in the prime of his life, the rest of his thirties and beyond laid out before him like a book, opened to the middle but left unfinished - blank pages, white and unblemished and numbering in the thousands. New York was his playground, the city his to shape and mould, to build and change, with the stroke of a pen behind Imperial’s great concrete walls. With his name attached to this award, he’d been set take home more. Imperial would be more well-renowned than ever; by tomorrow morning, the papers would say so, pictures of he and Ben kissing splashed across their front pages.

His father would see, and it was with some surprise that he realized he didn’t _care_. Where once it might have satisfied him to imagine Brendol Hux seeing the evidences of his success and knowing deep down that not a lick of it had anything to do with him, the need to prove himself, the need even for revenge, had faded and left in its place a sense of still-water calm. The satisfaction he knew now wasn’t something his father could touch; no longer could he be troubled to imagine what the man thought or didn’t think. His life was, finally, his own. It might have taken near 34 years, but all of that paled in comparison to the man hanging off his arm, stumbling alongside of him, his flannel now tied around his waist and his face flushed and smiling as Ethan pulled back the curtains of their hotel room.

Outside, the night was bright and full in the city that never slept. No stars were visible - they never were here, and it had been so long since he had seen them that Ethan didn’t mourn their lack. How could he when a crack of the window let in the song of the streets, the honking of horns and the squealing of tires and music that he thought have been carried from where the gala continued well into the night? Somewhere far off, a man yelled something indistinct, while the lights of nearby buildings flickered on one by one. They were the only stars Ethan had ever needed, some of them so close he could make out of the shape of rectangular highrise windows, could almost see the lamps left burning on bedside tables, some of them so distant that they bled together, a diffused glow that spoke of a thousand lives carried on in the city that connected them all - strangers and lovers and friends and people he’d only ever see in passing all sharing this place, all _creating_ it, creating each other.

He might have been waxing poetic, but tonight, he thought, he was allowed.

“You should paint this,” he said to Ben, pulling him in closer and nuzzling his cheek. Ethan’s skin was buzzing with wine and proximity, and in the well-appointed kitchen there was left-over Chinese food he and Ben could share later. They still had the room for one more night, and the city for the rest of their lives, and each other too - everything was possibility, was new, the smell of his partner’s skin clinging to him.

“I could,” Ben agreed, his voice dreamy, and Ethan could see that already the wheels of his mind were turning as he looked out and below, his head falling to rest on Ethan’s shoulder. A million and more love stories had played out in this city in the almost 400 years since its founding, and this was his.

There on the 52nd floor of the Four Seasons, it was quiet; there was no music save for the noise outside, but they didn’t want for anything more than that. Nothing Beru had ever played had spoken so much to his soul as the sounds of the New York evening coming alive. His heartbeat was the hum of the street above a subway tunnel at an approaching train, and as he pulled Ben into a slow dance, Ethan began to hum, their bodies swaying in time to the rhythmless rumble of his chest.  

The air that came in through the window was balmy and pleasant; it spoke of a warm spring that would become a warmer summer, of the cherry blossoms that were opening in Central Park, of air conditioners rattling in windows, of the end of snow and sleet and days cut short, as Ethan navigated them deftly around an armchair, a chaise lounge, and back into the place where they had begun, the two of them framed by the light of the city, a picture frozen in time. He would remember this forever, he knew - would remember the way Ben smelled slightly of wine and the room slightly of sweet and sour chicken, the way it felt to hold Ben like this, the way time dragged its feet, lazy, whenever he did.

Once, Hux had thought his life full - now, Ethan knew it hadn’t been. A place for everything and everything in its place, that was the way he had lived, everything tidy, from his office to his penthouse to the same Indian restaurant that knew his order from memory. Clean and simple. Predictable. Just the way he had liked it. He hadn’t recognized it then, but what a lonely existence it had been. Loneliness had a way of creeping up on people; it was a quiet companion, sitting unnoticed in one of a dozen empty chairs at a table set for one, making itself at home in a king size bed where one side had never been used. Nothing was easier to get used to; that was what made it so dangerous.

They’d stopped moving except for a slow shift of their weight from one foot to the other, Ethan still humming into Ben’s ear as the room’s air conditioner kicked on for the first time all spring. Half a year ago, he’d told a man from _Esquire_ magazine that he hated mess, but he had been wrong. He didn’t mind mess at all. Mess was vitality. Was life. Was _living._ And as his breath ruffled Ben’s hair, Ethan found he couldn’t imagine a future without paint brushes in his sink and mismatched socks on his bedroom floor - without _Ben_ , and all the mess that came with him.

He stopped swaying abruptly as his eyes locked with Ben’s, the words tumbling out before he had time to consider them.

“Will you marry me?” Ethan hadn’t meant to say it, wasn’t prepared - was, in fact, a little drunk. He didn’t even have a ring for god’s sake. For a moment, he doubted whether he’d really done it at all, or if he’d simply lost his mind, but the way Ben’s eyes widened, his mouth forming a little ‘o’ said he had. “I don’t have a ring. I…” Ethan broke off laughing, the sound a little hysterical. “I don’t have anything to give you. Not even a paper one.” He put his hands in his pockets and came up empty. “I didn’t plan on… I mean, I _did._ Of course I wanted you to marry me, but my god, it’s not even been six months, and there’s a way this is supposed to go and I think I’ve managed to break just about every rule in the book regarding proposals.”

Just as abruptly as he’d stopped swaying, he dropped to one knee, his hands suddenly shaking and sweat gathering on his palms. Because while he may not have had a clue what he was doing, Ethan knew he wanted it. Knew that he would have asked the question a thousand times over, in a thousand different ways, if it meant getting the answer he needed.

“But if you can ignore all that-” He swallowed hard, his voice wobbling. “The question still stands. Ben, marry me, _please._ ”

“Since when do we follow rules?” Ben couldn’t help but chuckle, tears building up at the same rapid pace as the widest smile broke out across his face. “I-... Oh, my God... _Yes_. Of course I’ll marry you! I think I would have if you’d asked me that first day we got together, too. I just… Yes!”

And then Ethan was back on his feet, hoisting Ben up and spinning him around - smiling with the force of the whole sun - and Ben could do little more than cling on for dear life until Ethan put him down again. Once his feet were safely back on the floor, they rested their foreheads together, just looking at each other for a while, sharing the silence, until Ben couldn’t help but giggle from all the feelings storming around in him - there was so much joy, so much giddiness, so much love, that he just couldn’t contain it. He had to do something, show it, express it, right this moment.

Gently cradling Ethan’s face in his hands, he let himself enjoy the feel of his beard under his palms. He was so handsome tonight, his Ethan, and Ben took his time - caressing his face, running his fingers through his hair, tracing the contours of his mouth with his thumb. He was _marrying_ this man, and nothing in his life had ever felt more right. Forget all tired clichés, all the puzzle pieces falling into place, all the coming home at last, all of those worn old words - they were shallow and insignificant next to what Ben felt the moment Ethan asked him to marry him. He would probably never be able to put words to it, to explain it, and would probably find himself calling it the last piece of the puzzle, or the safe port after the storm, and that was okay. But here, in this moment, with New York spread out around them like a galaxy all its own, filled with so many sounds that meant so little but that he would never forget, all Ben wanted was Ethan. The smell of his perfume, the softness of his hands, the warm smoothness of his skin, the way his beard scratched Ben’s face when they kissed, the weight of his body to anchor him, the soft rumble of his voice as he whispered praise and soothing words as he sunk into him.

He wanted Ethan. All of him.

It was the easiest thing in the world to let his hands rid Ethan of his suit jacket, then go to work on his tie and buttons, holding his gaze while he did so. They had time, and he wanted to commit every last second of this to memory. Only once Ethan stood there before him, not a thread to conceal his body, did Ben move - and only to push him onto the bed with a short order to ‘watch’ as Ben rid himself of his own clothes. He’d never done anything like it before, but he knew that his partner - _fiancé_ \- wouldn’t enjoy it any less if he stumbled a bit. As he let himself be pulled onto Ethan’s lap for a deep, unhurried kiss, Ben felt beautiful.

Later, after what had been the softest, sweetest lovemaking they’d engaged in so far, when Ethan was deep asleep - holding Ben in a protective embrace even as his finger twitched in dreaming - Ben lay there, drawing little patterns on his skin, smiling when goosebumps rose in the wake of his fingers. Tomorrow, Ethan had said, they’d go looking for rings. He knew he should get some sleep, knew he should try to be rested for the adventure that it would no doubt be, but he wasn’t ready to let go of this moment just yet. Wasn’t ready to let this moment be ‘yesterday’ yet. Because six months ago, he’d been a broken, hopeless, suicidal mess - convinced he was worthless, convinced no one could ever love him, convinced he didn’t belong. And then came Ethan, who had turned Ben’s entire world and life upside down, and who had given him food and shelter and clothes, and hope. Ethan, who had treated him like a person when everyone else saw a freak, who had loved him before either one of them understood it, who looked at Ben with eyes that shone with so much pride and adoration it had Ben reeling. His Ethan, who was beautifully flawed in his own ways, and who Ben had wanted more than anything he had ever wanted in his life - craved, desperately, even before he fully knew him.

He had always wanted Ethan. And now he had him. For the rest of his life.

Burrowing his face into the crook in Ethan’s neck, Ben Solo fell asleep, secure in the knowledge that, finally, he belonged.

 


	23. Chapter 23

_Esquire, Issue #5 - May_

**_EXCLUSIVE!_ **

**The Hux-Solo Wedding - The Happy Ending of a Real Life Fairy Tale**

_Esquire reports exclusively from the most talked about, most anticipated, and without a doubt most romantic event of the year: The wedding of Ethan Hux, billionaire and CEO of Imperial Marketing, and Benedetto ‘Ben’ Solo, creative genius extraordinaire and up and coming mental health advocate. As the only magazine invited to share this important day, our reporter is honoured to give a detailed account of what has been called the most important day in New York’s high society for several months already. But let’s start at the beginning._

Ethan Hux and Ben Solo met at Imperial Marketing, where Solo was working as an administrative assistant at the time, according to sources close to the couple. Rumors have been circulating that Hux actually saved Solo’s life after some sort of accident in his department, but neither Solo nor Hux has confirmed or denied the verity of those claims. This is hardly surprising, as Ethan Hux has been known for years as being a fiercely private person, and the same seems to be the case for Ben Solo. The young artist has made a few hints at there having been some form of event or crisis in his life at the time when he met Hux, but he politely declines any requests for details.

Whatever the truth of their meeting, our sources have revealed that Hux and Solo were all but inseparable from that moment forward, though the two were captured together on film only a few times in the months that followed, during which Solo remained a relative unknown, referred to most commonly as “Hux’ dark-haired companion.” It proved to be a whirlwind romance for the couple. They announced their engagement shortly after the Annual AIGA Gala - which was little more than two months after we heard Solo’s name for the first time. Hardly two years ago, he was working on the second floor of Hux’ office; now, Solo is sharing a penthouse with the one of the wealthiest and most powerful men in marketing, with a graphic design award from the _Professional Association of Design_ to his name and pledging his vows to that very same man in the wedding of the decade. Solo has certainly made his entrance into the social scene an unforgettable one.

With a story like theirs, it’s no surprise that the wedding itself has proven just as unforgettable. Hux and Solo rented out the entirety of the Metropolitan Museum of Art for the affair - a fitting venue, given Solo’s career. At two million square feet, the Met remains the largest museum of art in the United States, ranking among the largest the world over. For any other couple, the choice might have seemed over the top, but with a list of attendees nearing the thousands, the size was just right for the Hux-Solo wedding. All the who’s who in both the marketing world and the New York artistic scene made their appearances, and attendees report there may have been a celebrity sighting or two, though no specific names have been mentioned.

Notably absent, however, were the grooms’ families. Brendol Hux, software tycoon in his own right, was nowhere to be found, solidifying assumptions about the state of their relationship stemming from remarks Hux has made in the past, and a perusal of the guest list revealed a distinct lack of anyone with the last name Solo outside of Ben himself. It wasn’t until late in the evening that we learned there was, in fact, one attendee who could be traced to Hux’ family: an estranged aunt, who he hadn’t seen since childhood. But if either of the men was left disappointed by the lack of showing, no one could tell. They were rarely seen without a smile on their faces the whole night; if they weren’t sharing food off each other’s forks, the two remained happily glued to each other’s sides.

As to be expected from a man like Ethan Hux, no expense was spared on the decorations - the theme for the wedding was, simply, ‘color’ - which turned the already colorful museum into a veritable explosion of vibrant hues in all colors of the rainbow, and then some. A bold choice, that could easily have come out on the tacky side, but one that the decorating team handled with a sure instinct that is enviable. The floral arrangements, provided by Belle Fleur of 5th Avenue, continued outside the building, where they were joined by several banners in the shape of Pride flags - a detail that our sources informed us was a request by Solo, for whom it was a matter of great personal importance. The theme as a whole was a joint decision, and with a dress code to match, there is no doubt that it was a success.

The grooms themselves arrived together by limousine, wearing matching three piece suits in a dark grey shade - custom designed and tailored by a friend of the couple. Hux chose his trademark hairstyle with its close-trimmed beard, while Solo caused many a heart to break with his soft, clean-shaven look, and his hair in a loose bun at the neck - a fitting look for his personality. The grooms also wore matching ties in a soft pink color, apparently a secret in-joke between them, sources say. Joke or not, it looked perfect on them both, as they came down the aisle, arm in arm, escorted by their ‘best persons.’ That’s right, Hux and Solo chose to once again disregard standard protocol, and instead of two best men, the roles were taken on by Ms Phasma (whose full name remains a secret, after much digging), Hux’ COO and close friend of the grooms, and Mr Dopheld Mitaka, Hux’ personal assistant and friend. The choice was a good one; Ms Phasma and Mr Mitaka both handled their job brilliantly, and it was clear that the grooms appreciated their presence by their side.

Though we were not allowed to share the wedding vows, which were written by the couple themselves, or take any photos of the ceremony itself, we can vouch for the ceremony being beautiful, moving, and incredibly heartwarming. Normally, only brides are described as being ‘absolutely radiant,’ but the same could be said for both Hux and Solo - especially the latter - and there was no mistaking the deep love between them as they exchanged understated silver bands.

After the grooms sealed their union with a kiss so show-stopping it resulted in a roar of applause, the celebration moved to a locale Hux and Solo knew well: Imperial’s own highrise, the sum of Hux’ work and until recently, the unrivaled love of his life, as well as the place where Hux and Solo reportedly had their first meeting. The reception took place on the first floor, in the building’s atrium, amid washed concrete floors and minimalist design - but only after the couple was greeted by throngs of not only their guests, but of excited New Yorkers eager to get a glimpse of the two men whose love story has kept the city riveted for over a year now.

They got their wish. Hux and Solo made time for each of their admirers, posing obligingly for photos for nearly half an hour before Imperial’s doors opened and the party - complete with a live orchestra who opened the night with an instrumental version of the Cure’s _Friday I’m in Love_ and then transitioned into Bach’s _Brandenburg Concertos_ without missing a beat _-_ got into full swing.

The food served was as colorful and extraordinary as the decorations, and the guests were more than happy to have both second and third helpings, but it was the wedding cake that really brought the wow factor. Of course, with so many guests attending, there had to be cake enough to go around, and the bakery in charge had solved the problem brilliantly. Taking up a full table on their own, a total of fifty large cakes were gathered around the centre piece - a beautiful white creation, decorated with edible roses and orchids of all colours, counting twelve stories in height. The grooms, not having seen the final product before the wedding, were quite blown away by the arrangement - though they quickly found their bearings again, and seemed to thoroughly enjoy the traditional cutting and feeding each other of the first slice. As did everyone else - so much in fact, that by the time the party was over, there was none left at all.

Foregoing the usual speeches, Hux and Solo took the opportunity to thank everyone who had supported them during the course of their relationship so far, and extended their heartfelt thanks to a number of people for their assistance in planning and arranging the wedding. They also made the guests aware of the many small and tastefully decorated collection boxes in the room, where donations to Solo’s freshly founded Skywalker Foundation for Mental Health Awareness could be made. Opting out of the customary waltz, Hux and Solo instead chose a slow dance to the tune of _Lovesong_ , also by the Cure - which, we were told, is one of Solo’s favorite bands. As the floor opened up for the rest of the party, the orchestra kept the mood up with a broad mix of songs, selected by the couple themselves. Hux and Solo danced several dances with each other, and even a few with some of the guests, looking for all as if they had never done anything but move about a dancefloor with more grace than one should have after several glasses of champagne and wine.

_Esquire_ was granted a rare moment with Hux on his way out of the reception, with Solo on his arm - far before the party reached its close. When asked what he planned to do now that he’d found a man like Solo, he replied simply, “Keep him,” and his self-satisfied smile was the last anyone saw of the couple for the rest of the night, though attendees were seen leaving the celebration well into the wee morning hours.

For Hux - billionaire and self-proclaimed bachelor, as well as the once elusive figurehead of the city’s most well-renowned marketing firm - the past two years must have been something of a wild ride, but watching him with Solo, it’s hard to believe he was ever anything but happily besotted. What the next two years will bring now that Hux is a married man is anyone’s guess. But one thing is for certain: with Imperial looking to expand its interests into foreign markets in the coming months, and the Skywalker Foundation for Mental Health Awareness set to open its doors any day now, there seems to be no end in sight for the Hux-Solo Empire.

 

_-T. Edwards_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking with us throughout this journey into Ben and Ethan's lives. It's been a long one, and we appreciate you sharing it with us! The two of us have had such a good time writing this, and we hope you've had just as much fun reading it.
> 
> Fun fact: All the locations mentioned in this story are REAL places, located in New York City - discovered either through personal experience or the power of Google. Within the next couple of weeks, we'll be putting up a post on tumblr that rounds them all up, so you can check them out for yourselves.
> 
> If you liked this story, we hope you'll give our new take on these two a read as well. It's titled "How Did We Get Here (I Used to Know You So Well), and we'll start publishing it shortly. While it's very different from Empire, we think you'll find it's a ride you'll want to experienece. The two of us are really excited to let you into this world as well, one in small town in New England, where our two heroes have a history and a story all their own.
> 
> As Team Redhead wraps up things for Ben and Ethan in Empire State of Mind, we'd like to once again offer our gracious thanks for all of your comments and asks and messages over on tumblr. They've meant a lot to us, as have all of you. 
> 
> For now - you know where to find us, and we'll be seeing you again soon!

**Author's Note:**

> For this first go-around, we have released two chapters, to allow our readers to get to know both Hux and (in the next chapter) Ben as they are in this universe. You can also expect the following two chapters to be published as a pair. After that, we cannot guarantee a swift and regular update schedule, as we both are occupied full-time and live in vastly different time zones. We can guarantee, however, that all updates will be full of feels! Questions or comments? Concerns? You can find us both on tumblr!


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